Fate Apocrypha Rewritten
by Logosdude
Summary: With the Mage's Association in danger of being revealed to the world, an army is gathered, and a system of bounded fields constructed. However, when it becomes apparent they'll lose the war, Marshall Barthomeloi Lorelei looks for other ways to win it, and William Shakespeare gives her an out. This story doesn't necessarily follow the canon and is currently on hold.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

**Kairi**

Smoke flowed effortlessly into the night sky, alongside the dust that had been kicked up during last night's battle, clouding the shining stars. A deep twilight settled over The Mages Association's base camp, accompanied by the melancholy of eventual defeat. Typically a shadowy organization, this was the first time that the Association had gone to war, and it wasn't going well.

Wounded were littered among the many tents, all being treated by various healers. Some stared at me with blank eyes, some with stirring fear. But, they all stared. None made eye contact, instead catching looks at the scars running down my right temple and left cheek. I suppose they could be off putting to those who hadn't seen such disfigurement, not to mention the fear of the mages gaining some of their own. None of them were hardened warriors, nor were they well trained, a fact I was reminded of every time I had to address a mage by their poofy family name.

The Trifas Mage Organization, named after the Romanian city Trifas, recently revealed itself publicly to the magical world, just last year, during 2013. This angered the megalomaniacs heading The Association, but what further insulted them was the fact that the mages in Trifas were openly sharing magic to the public. So, before any magical information could leak to the outside world, The Mage's Association set up magical barriers, Bounded Fields, around the city of Trifas. Their attempts to subdue the Organization through assassination had utterly failed, and the Trifas Mages even revealed that they had prepared an army, marching it out to tear the bounded fields down.

The Association panicked, it had never fought a full scale battle in the entirety of its two thousand year lifespan. Therefore, it enacted a conscription law requiring any mage it deemed useful to join the war. It wasn't a popular decision, but the idea of having their experiments monitored and regulated by magically-informed governments was the true nightmare of any mage.

I was used to battles, having been a freelancer for the Association for around ten years by then. This, however, was the bloodiest conflict I had ever taken part in. Around 100,000 troops between the two sides, both possessing superhuman qualities. Magical warfare had never been battle tested before, although, that didn't stop the Trifas Organization from routing us in every battle. What makes it worse is the fact that the Marshall of the Association's conscript army, Barthomeloi Lorelei, had confined herself to her tent for the last few days. Yet, she had just summoned me to her quarters. Quite the unusual occurrence seeing as she only reluctantly deals with her direct underlings.

The Vice Director of The Association, Lorelei was also hailed as the ultimate mage of the modern era. Not only that, but she descended from the most renowned mage family, the Barthomelois. Combined, these two factors made her the most respected mage of the modern era, although a mage's respect was borderline worthless. A mage would stab anyone in the back without a second's notice if he thought it'd take him closer to True Magic, or further his family's reputation.

War tents scattered over the landscape as I made it further up the hill, becoming more scarce with every step until the grand crimson tent embroidered with the Barthomeloi Family Crest, a lion wearing a golden crown, loomed over me. Lorelei was so dedicated to her family that she took her family name as her first and surrounded herself as much as she possibly could with reminders of her lineage, an extreme in magical arrogance. If every mage house was destined to fall, why take pride in your lineage when it could die simply because of a mediocre heir? Every generation, Mage families rolled the dice to determine their House's future, making the whole process pointless. Fools.

The velvet flaps of the tent stood before me, shifting in the wind. The entropy of the camp below seemed quite foreign in the presence of such elegant design. A clever but pointless delusion. Muffled voices could be heard through the fabric, although the words blended together making them difficult to interpret. I took a handful of fabric into my hand, moving it aside and revealing the inside of the room.

Lorelei sat in a suspiciously throne like chair placed at the head of a large war table. Her neatly brushed brunette hair was contrasted by the deep bags under her eyes, further contradicted by the almost insane smile upon her lips. A paper map rested on the table with variously colored pins and figurines strewn throughout, some having obviously been knocked over. She held one in her hand, in the shape of a knight wielding a longsword. She studied it passionately. Her attire was high-class, if somewhat ruffled. A white blouse with a red bow, alongside baggy red pants and a metal gauntlet which covered her right hand.

Behind her stood a bearded man who looked as if he had just came from the nearest Renaissance festival. A green and orange tunic hung from his shoulders, somewhat oddly matching his brown hair and emerald eyes. He held a book to his chest tightly, and his mouth moved with an obvious conviction. Although, this quickly changed to an ominous silence when he noticed me in the doorway, grimacing analytically at my scars. This grimace was soon replaced by a satisfied, happy look.

Lorelei soon noticed her companion's silence, widening her smile, but her eyes remained glued to the figurine. "Ah, Kairi. I see you've heard my summons." she stated, in a somewhat coy but very uncharacteristically friendly manner.

"Yes," I said in a matter of fact tone. My eyes scanned Lorelei over once more, but my eyes eventually returned to her companion. _Who was he? _I thought. I'd never seen him around camp. His general demeanor and dress were exceedingly eccentric. I most definitely would've noticed him before, and then remembered him vividly.

She noticed my confusion, glancing at her companion somewhat thoughtfully. Dropping her smile for but a second, she looked at me with a renewed energy. "I see you've noticed my friend here. I will admit, he is quite...unique…`` Lorelei placed the figurine on the table, leaned forward, and sneered pridefully, "Kairi Shishigou, I would like you to meet my good friend William Shakespeare." _What? How could that be possible?_ I thought. My heart beat out of my chest and sweat invaded my brow. I took a short step backward, ready to retreat out of the room. Whatever in the seven hells was going on there, it couldn't have been good.

Shakespeare chuckled loudly, which made me even more ready to run. "I would hardly call us friends, Barthomeloi." He said, looking directly in my eyes. "No need to worry. Her intentions are pure...or, at least, non-violent."

Lorelei pawed over her gauntlet with her left hand for a second before flamboyantly slipping it off. Blood red marks inhabited her hand, looking as though they had been tattooed. A strange energy seemed to seep off of them, but I knew their purpose. "These are command seals." she explained, as if she were a child describing what she learned in class today. They marked a master in a Holy Grail War. Each master had three command seals, and it was what bonded them to their summoned hero and solidified their pact. I had worked for a master once before.

The Holy Grail War was a conflict between seven pairs of mages and summoned heroic spirits, all originating from various myths and histories. They fought to the death for The Holy Grail, although I was never quite sure whether it was the Christian Holy Grail, the one that Jesus drank out of during The Last Supper. Apparently, it was an omniscient wish granting device, although such ideas were always childish.

A dull anger washed over me, but I masked it by tilting my head inquisitively. "What does this have to do with me? Did you call me to your tent simply to brag?" I said, signalling my anger, making my hiding it useless. I crossed my arms somewhat forcibly. "And, I know what command seals are."

Lorelei looked me over slightly confused, but quickly returned to her insane smile. "My, my, Kairi. There's more to this than you can comprehend." She rolled up her sleeve like a sibling uncovering the vase that was broken by their younger brother. Command seals followed her sleeve like a plague outbreak follows trade routes, finally ending at her bicep. There were, in total, twenty one seals. _Why did she have so many? _I thought.

My confusion must have been visible, because Lorelei smiled even wider, looking to her historical friend. "Shakespeare, please explain." She made her way back to her throne and sat down casually, once more taking a figurine into her hand. This time, it depicted an archer pointing their bow to the sky.

"Of course" He smiled, bowing deeply "It is my duty to inform the masters of this...irregular Grail War." Shakespeare removed the tome from his chest. It was a deep brown leather sealed with a heavy looking lock. He held it up with his right hand, and took a key from his pocket with his left hand and slid it through the keyhole. The book floated up from his hand and made its way to the middle of the war map. It opened and rapidly flipped through its own pages. A bright flash emanated from it's final page. The room slowly faded away into black.

A golden light brought me to, and revealed a deep ebony void. A brilliant fire exploded from the center of it, almost blinding me again. The light from the fire flowed into the rest of the void and revealed a church as its center. A bald, thin man appeared before my feet, crawling past me towards the church, leaving a thick trail of blood. He looked quite old and his eyes were a deep black. Upon further inspection, a semi-destroyed town masked by stone stairs stood behind me with various bright explosions damaging it further. A large river sat in the middle, and large hunks of what used to be a bridge sat on its banks. Planes with the American star flew above and dropped small masses of metal onto the town below. A gnarled forest flanked the church on both sides, wood chips littered the stone path that led up to it.

A black haired man, whom I recognized as Darnic, the leader of the Trifas Organization, treaded up the stairs behind me, trailed by a blonde haired knight wielding a spear. The former wore a deep grimace, staring at the ground and slouching. He wore a somewhat out of place fancy white coat with matching pants. His right pant leg was covered in blood. The later stood tall, but also wore a grimace. Just like Shakespeare, his attire was extremely out of place for the period, being a chain hauberk. They casually passed both me and the bald man and entered the church. The knight did a double take before entering, sighing at the wounded man. Darnic waved his hand before leaving my view, and the fire extinguished.

I followed them in and found a perfect path through the fire. Two rows of pews, all on fire, led up to a wooden podium. A golden cup with complex engravings floated above the podium, a red liquid pouring out from over its rim. Darnic raised his hand once more, and made a hole through the constant downpour to touch the cup, then both him and the knight vanished. An eyrie silence inhabited the church, only violated by the sound of the pouring slime and the burning that slowly destroyed the church around me.

Another bright flash, this time from the cup, engulfed the hall, quickly followed up by an almighty gust of razor sharp wind from the cup, knocking the church off of its own foundations, blowing its pieces in every direction. It rushed outside, and blew the wounded old man into bloody pieces and threw trees into the air systematically, roots and all. A deafening boom followed after, as if sound traveled slower than this magical wind. The wind soon reached the planes and the town, and ripped both apart brutally. Planes crashed down, tossing debris in the air like dice in a gambling match. The destroyed bridge and the water it sat in both jumped up and flooded the town with murky waters.

Darnic appeared once more without his knightly companion. His mostly undamaged appearance contrasted the devastation surrounding us. Soot and wood chips peppered his previously well washed face, and he fell down onto his knees. He took his face in his hands and sobbed audibly.

Everything Faded to black once more, and I was safely placed into Lorelei's command tent. Shakespeare stood erect, harbouring a solemn look, as though he were meditating. Lorelei, however, still wore her insane smile, now holding a figurine wielding a lance. She held her face in her right hand, which was still bare, which revealed her first three command seals. Her gauntlet rested on the table before her. She glanced at me once more, just as she had when I entered the tent, but quickly returned her attention to the figurine.

Shakespeare suddenly opened his eyes, and sighed while wiping a stray tear from his cheek. He seemed surprised upon looking at me. "I guess sentimentality is a thing of the past." He glanced at Lorelei, but she just scoffed.

"What's there to be sad about?" She said whilst she adopted a scowl.

He shook his head, and closed his eyes once more. Pulling a small journal, he began to energetically take notes. The silence was agonizing, but he eventually put the journal back in his pocket. He then took up his usual overly-interested look.

"That was the end of The Third Holy Grail War. The Grail was misused and it caused the death of the entire town of Fuyuki. Err...what was left of it. That Grail War took place during WW2, and the town was bombed to hell during that period, since it was an industrial town in Japan…" Shakespeare Looked down thoughtfully, and took his chin in his hand "...Well, I'm not sure if he misused it or if that was what he intended to do." He, once again, took his journal out and wrote something. The silence even more agonizing, and he opted to keep his journal in his hand this time. "Anyway, he certainly caused much destruction, didn't he?"

"Why was Darnic there?" I asked, hoping he wouldn't write something down again.

"Ah, yes. Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia, the leader of The Trifas Organi-"

"Rebellion." Lorelei interrupted. Shakespeare quickly jotted something down, observing Lorelei like a surgeon ready to start a procedure. His writing was so quick that the wait wasn't painful.

"Yes...of course. In any case, he's the leader. He was a participant in The Third Holy Grail War. Although, his being there was merely a coincidence. I showed you this to communicate why Lorelei's arm is covered in Command Seals," He said, completely enraptured in his own speech.

"Why is that?" I questioned, hoping he'd get to the point.

"The Grail was used and in that use it was damaged, whether it was a misuse or intentional is...irrelevant to our discussion now." He said, which made me feel intense relief "During contemporary Grail Wars, The Holy Grail has also been damaged. Therefore, the Grail was having trouble when it attempted to reach out to worthy masters. Not only that, but it'll need more energy to imprint its existence upon this world. Therefore, The Grail has summoned me to deal out command seals to worthy masters. I have deemed Barthomeloi worthy." He looked down thoughtfully once more, but then shifted his gaze back up to me. Nodding, he seemed happy with his explanation.

"Why'd you give her so many command seals, though?"

"Because I thought it'd be interesting to see how she'd distribute them. You're the first master that she chose," He smiled bashfully. Summoning a super powered heroic spirit from history to fight to the death? That sounded like one of the most exciting contracts I'd ever have the possibility of taking. My mouth watered at the prospect. However, I still had one question. "Will I be fighting Lorel-"

"Lady Barthomeloi." Lorelei interrupted.

"Right. My point is, am I fighting you, aren't 21 command seals only enough to summon 7 servants, and…" I shift my gaze from The Vice Director to Shakespeare. "Didn't you say you'd need more than 7 servants?"

Shakespeare practically frothed with excitement upon me asking these questions. He rolled up his sleeve, revealing twenty one faded command seals and twenty one fully colored ones. "You'll be fighting on a team. I'm giving Darnic the other twenty one command seals." He rolled down his sleeves slowly "Of course, teams aren't in the rules of a normal Holy Grail War, I just thought it'd be interesting. I think I'll write a play based on the war, even if no one ever hears it." Shakespeare beamed with happiness.

Lorelei sighed, "With the bounded field around Trifas, Darnic won't be able to assemble a group of servants worthy of fighting us," She said, fed up with Shakespeare's exposition.

"If that's what you think." Shakespeare scoffs.

Lorelei eyed him suspiciously "Where would they get the summoning materials?" She wasn't incorrect in asking this question. Every heroic spirit needed an artifact from their past to be summoned, making summoning heroic spirits somewhat difficult for The Trifas Organization.

He looked at her, incredibly amused "If I told you, you'd try to destroy them. I, however, am trying to be impartial."

"Of course." She tried to hide behind a well constructed, noble smile, but she obviously was seething with anger.

"Why me?" I interrupted, hoping to stop an argument before it started.

Lorelei looked at me. "Because you have one of the highest kill rates on the battlefield, and you have...adequate magical circuitry." She stared down at the table quietly for a moment before speaking again. "This could be our shot to turn the tides of war and destroy the Trifas Rebellion for good. Depending on the fame of the servants we summon, they could each be worth thousands of troops." She paused once more, looking to the figurines sprawled around the map. "Unlike regular grail wars, this will be fought on the battlefield, making battle tested mages a necessity. We have quite a few mages that are themselves equal to servants in power, including you." She pulled a brown box out from under the table, and opened it carefully. A small chunk of etched wood sat in the middle of the velvet innards of the box. "This is a fragment of King Arthur's Round Table. You'll be using it to summon your servant."

Of course. There was always a catch with Lorelei. She never liked letting other people getting ahead, so she purposely sabotaged them. Even if I was compatible enough with one of the knights of the round table to summon them, I wouldn't get along with them easily. However, the thought of fighting a hero from the past granted supernatural powers ignited a fire within me. "I'm in."

Lorelei put down the figurine in her hand and leaned forward in her chair, lending me her full attention. She then lifted her right arm up and rested it on the War Table, and beckoned me forward with her index finger. I shuffled over to her and she attempted to take my hand in hers. "Wait…" I say, withdrawing my hand. "About payment."

Lorelei groaned "You will be compensated however you wish."

I rested my chin in my hand and though it over for but a moment. Of course, this was only a formality. I already knew my own price. "10 million English Pounds."

Lorelei groaned once more "Fine."

"It's a deal, then." I took her hand in mine. A red light pulsates in the room for a few seconds before it swiftly faded. I took my hand, turned it, and glanced at the back of it. Three crimson lines rest upon it, forming a swirl.

Lorelei sat back in her chair once more, taking another figurine in hand, looking at it from every angle. This time, it was depicting a mage wielding a staff. "That is all, Kairi. You may go," she stated, not even glancing at me. She places her legs on the war table, slumping into her throne because of it.

Shakespeare sighed and waved me goodbye. I stopped in my tracks, eyeing Shakespeare warily, before I stepped outside the tent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Giovanni

The stars bloomed in the night sky, and flooded the scarlet and gold halls of the Yggdmillennia castle with light. Serving as a headquarters for The Trifas Organization, it was simultaneously a place of war and of study. Darnic had trained all of his students in this castle, so when the war with The Association broke out, he simply reorganized his teaching program to only include mages who were unimportant to the war effort.

Various students passed me in the halls, all whispering amongst themselves as I walked. This was expected since I was the Trifas Organization's field marshall. The Job was less difficult than it sounded. Most of the work was delegated to the commanders under me. Simply put, I planned the campaigns alongside Darnic and other high ranking officials and my underlings executed said plans. The workload wasn't anything I hadn't experienced before, so it wasn't quite as much of a shock as it may have been for the other mages. The War was, to some extent, planned in advance, but my peers hadn't expected it to be this...hellish.

Amongst the students stood guards in black and white uniforms which covered most of their bodies, and left only the head and hands visible. None held weapons, and their faces and hands were stitched together from occasionally discolored patches of skin. Sometimes, their limbs were even of varying lengths. Their analytical stares dissected the hall, somehow making me feel both safe and like I was being stalked by wolves. They were what I called Carnations, but they were formally referred to as Imperfect Incarnations.

Created via various body parts gained from generous donations and battlefield bounties, and by improperly inserting a soul into the stitched cadaver, The result was emotionless and analytical killers only fit for following orders. Just add my own brand of martial arts training and you'll have yourself the most efficient military force on the planet, ready to run up walls and dodge bullets on command. Sebrina Zepter, their creator, had been producing them non-stop for around a decade (alongside her students), although her role had mostly been shifted to that of a medic during the most recent battles.

Carnations consisted of 80% of our forces, and numbered around twenty thousand. The other 20% was made up of mages of various crafts, ranging from walking artillery to supermedics trained by Zepter herself. This division was necessary due to the rarity of competent mages, and it was noticeable throughout the organization of every squad, company, battalion, brigade, etc. Although, this didn't affect our combat effectiveness. Our army was outnumbered three to one by the Association's, but we still crushed them in most battles. Even if we didn't, the losses on both sides could be converted back into brand new Carnations.

Scarlet turned to a somber, depleted red as rain clouds settled in the sky, and blocked the starlight. Small lanterns on the walls awoke. The resulting light was dim and depressing. Halls shrunk slowly until two people could barely walk abreast within, signaling the fact that I was nearing the inner parts of the castle. I was heading to a war meeting called by Darnic. Due to our recent successes, our entire campaign had to be recoordinated. Previously, we had planned to act more defensively, and fought The Association in a war of attrition. However, due to a mass route by The Association during one of the most recent battles, our territory and standing in the war had completely changed.

When we had first revealed ourselves last year, The Association was quick in creating a series of bounded fields around Trifas. Due to this, we had no access to internet or the outside world in general. Even if we tried to share magic via the internet, The Mage's Association had agents within all the major tech companies allowing them to place filters on what's posted online. However, The bounded fields were more than just extra insurance. It restricted our operation area and cut us off from any of our operatives outside the fields, but it also allowed for The Association to mask their troop movements. Their camp was always situated on the outside rim of the fields, so when they were organizing they could use it to hide their formations. This forced us to make most of our plans as they were marching on us, although the results of the war were still not favorable for them.

Every battle either resulted in a draw or a victory for us. No matter what, the unorganized and poorly trained Association army would take massive casualties, especially during their initial assaults on Trifas itself - Although since the conflict had branched out to the surrounding wilderness, their losses had dropped. Except in forested regions.

Due to this, the war had been much easier than we'd predicted (when we assumed that the Association would be bold enough to engage in open conflict) and we were left with large amounts of new territory. Before, we had just controlled Trifas and the surrounding Forest. Then, we control the majority of the land near Trifas. During the war meeting, we were going to decide how to both utilize and protect said land.

As the halls became narrower, an increased amount of Carnations guarded the connected doorways. The most important rooms were situated within the deepest depths of the castle. I had no idea what most of them contained. Although, knowing the types of experiments the mages of this castle did, the thought of what was within each room creeped me out. The layout of the different departments had become quite messy since the war broke out, so someone may be planning supply shipments in one room, and in the neighboring space someone may have been stitching a Carnation's arm back on.

The castle itself was quite big - so much so that it easily housed its thirty thousand residents. It was built by the ancient Yggdmillennia mage clan, of which Darnic was a member. One of the more obscure mage clans, it was only a bit younger than the Barthomeloi Family, although this didn't detract from his power. Darnic was most definitely the supreme mage of the current era. His ancestors, however, were nowhere near as powerful as him, mostly due to a sudden drop in magical circuits in The Yggdmillennia Clan a few hundred years before his birth. Due to this, The Yggdmillennia Clan often didn't get the recognition it deserved, especially by the noble houses of The Clocktower.

Two guards stand erect on the flanks of a masterfully engraved door, signalling my destination was near. Despite the size of the halls in this part of the castle, some of its largest rooms, such as The War Room, were within this area. Hushed voices could be heard behind the albino wood of the door. The rooms guards gave me a nod before they peeled the door open, and revealed a large, stone table. A grand map was etched into the stone, and Pins pierced the map in the locations of various villages, with different colors signalling who controls each location, Red for The Association and Black for us. Most of the black pins were inside of an egg shaped formation of white pins, all with crimson yarn wrapped around them. Most of the red pins were outside of this formation.

The room itself was a large throne room etsche domain, with grand marble pillars framing a half-transparent dyed glass window, which was an artist's interpretation of the discovery of The First Magic. Darnic, with his elegant white silk coat and suspiciously young appearance, stood hunched over the map, studying it empirically. His ebony hair was cleanly cut and groomed, and framed his face. Behind him, the window revealed a coming storm with lightning pulsating through the sky. He seemed to be either unaware, or he didn't care.

A woman sat on his right. Her hair was a mix of white and black, contrasted by her youthful, energetic look. Her eyebrows were pure black, but I knew that if I looked close enough, I would once again discover that her eyebrows were made entirely of black stitches. A few stitches also rested on her right temple, and, unlike her mostly pale skin, a segment of black skin occupied the part of her face closest to her left ear. She was Sebrina Zepter, the creator of the Carnations, and was listing off various statistics (Troop numbers in various regions, recovery rate for injured troops, etc.) whilst pointing at different locations on the map.

Darnics attention fully shifted to the doorway when I entered: a look of serious recognition implanted itself on his face. Sebrina glanced only briefly over me before she returned to pointing at the map. I took a seat opposite her and sat quietly while she went on. After a minute or two, she finished and Darnic once again focused his attention on me. "Giovanni, good to see you." he said as he stuck his hand out.

I took it within my own, and gripped it firmly whilst I nodded, "Good to see you too, Darnic…" I trailed off and shifted my gaze to Sebrina "And you, Zepter." I once again extended my hand.

She took it tensely, purposefully avoiding eye contact while she did. "Giovanni," Sebrina mumbled softly. She shuffles in her seat, staring at the wall pensively. I sighed: Zepter was always like this.

Darnic seemed to notice my exasperation because he cleared his throat loudly. He opened his mouth, but a number of ranking officials entered the room, and forced Darnic to save whatever he intended to say for another time. He stood up, straight as an arrow, and addressed his underlings. "Welcome. We were just starting." Unlike everyone else at the table, Darnic didn't have a designated seat, so he just stayed standing.

All the mages there had an occupational reason to be in this war meeting, besides Darnics own two children, who entered alongside the commanders. Both were in their twenties, although the girl, Fiore, was slightly older. Fiore wore a blouse in similar fashion to Darnic's white coat and black pants. Her legs hung downward aimlessly due to her bronze manipulator limbs. Four metal masses poked out of a bag Fiore wore on her back, two pointing downward and the other two used to move her around. She used to be in a wheelchair, but that was soon changed when she came up with the idea for the bronze manipulator, which took the form of a pair of silk gloves with bronze finishes. Her long brunette hair was neatly tucked behind her ears, having been brushed attentively. Her vigilantly upkept appearance was complemented with her focused look. Her eyes were glued on Darnic as soon as she entered. She sat down in her chair. Her pack removed itself and attached to her chair, and deactivated with a small burst of pressurized air.

Caules, the younger brother, and heir default of the Yggdmillennia Clan, was a different story. His messy brown hair absentmindedly flowed with his own movements, sticking up in various places. He wore a pure white long sleeve shirt with baggy blue jeans, and he wore nor shoes or socks. He moved as if he had just come out of a coma, slouching deeply. His eyes were covered in glasses with a few smudge marks on their lenses, although I doubt he noticed. He slumped down into a chair next to his father, who himself was trying his hardest to hide his rage at Caules lack of preparation. A train wreck would've been less disastrous.

Darnic still stood tall, his authority announcing itself across the room, with everyone besides Caules giving him their full attention. His deep brown eyes scanned the room to ascertain whether or not anyone was missing. His gaze skipped over Caules but lingered on Fiore and he shook his head, and he looked towards the map to address everyone vocally. "Good evening everyone. Before we start…" He points to the center of the map "I want all of you to engrave that small segment of Transylvania that we control into your minds. That, from now on, is our comparison. We will always measure our success upon it, nothing more nor less." He began to circle around the table, skimming the tops of each chair with his fingers. "You all have done excellently so far…" He once again looked at Fiore and shook his head. "But it's not enough." He reached the other end of the table, which was unoccupied by a chair. "We're fighting a giant here. A tyrannical Association thousands of years old." His eyes once again scanned everyone sitting at the table. "I would like to remind you all of that before we get too cocky. This might be the closest The Associations been to ruin, but they might find a way to…"

A loud boom of thunder roared, questioning Darnic's authority. His eyes travelled up to the window, which was presenting the storm in its entirety. Darnic chuckled "I guess Lorelei's trying to assert her dominance, even now." Everyone in the room laughed heartily along with him. Darnic once again cleared his throat, smiling widely. He opened his mouth to start his speech again, but it was interrupted by another roar. Not that of thunder, but of a deafening gale, shaking the very foundations of the castle. Darnic's face drowned in realization and he slammed his jaw open to scream "Enemy attack! Everyone, get down!"

The population of the room shelved their (mostly) proud demeanors, and dropped to the ground in the fetal position. I rolled into cover behind a pillar, and watched the window in case of a breach. If anything sentient entered, I reckoned I could kill it. My fists clenched and knees bent in wicked anticipation, I waited as a woeful silence gripped The War Room. A few ranking officials sat up from their fetal position when the gale paused, but returned to it fearfully when it resumed.

Darnic peeked at me through a gap in the table, beckoning me close. I shook my head and motioned to the window. Fiore also called for my attention, puppeteering her pack back onto her pack and taking cover behind a pillar opposite mine. Then, the tempest strengthened, shattering the window with a shrill screech. A flurry of parchment bursted through the hole, accompanied by the deafening howl of the whirlwind. The paper flew continuously in a circle and focused inward on a single point. The sheets then took a respite, and suddenly flopped dramatically to the ground when they were all above the table. They lurched inward, towards the center, assembling themselves into the shape of two legs. A torso soon took form, forging the image of a emerald-shirted man.

The composition of the paper shifted, and formed into three different focus points, building off of them. Deciding enough was enough, I jumped forward above the table, kicking directly at the paper man's new chest. I flew right through, unleashing a flurry of paper in my wake. It soon returned to its previous shape, and when I looked back the man was fully formed, and the remaining parchment was collecting itself on his bosom. It fabricated a leather bound tome. The man stood tall and viewed the room as if he were the director of a movie and this was his set. He took his chin in his hand and nodded enthusiastically.

Fiore lunged at him to interrupt his survey. Her fingers shifted from one sign to the other as she sped forward, one of her mechanical limbs pointing forward. The man sidestepped her, letting her fly past and attach herself to a pillar, almost crashing onto her own head.

The man' beard and almost modern looking hair framed his chiseled face, but he didn't have the look of a warrior, but that of a shrewd intellectual. He carried an eccentricity that even the dim-witted would notice. His green eyes matched his tunic, which was the exact same color, having been specially tailored. A brown coat hung from his shoulders, though his arms weren't in the sleeves. He hopped forward excitedly, shaking visibly. "I have come for Darnic Prestone Yggdmillennia!" He yelled with conviction "Where is he?" he asked, staring at me, either unaware or unnerved by my attempt at his life.

Darnic shot up from the table, yelling "Gein!" and blasting a red bolt from his hand. However, The Bearded Man simply let go of his book, letting it take the shot. It exploded flamboyantly, but reformed as if someone had hit the rewind button on a television.

The Bearded Man tilted his head to one side, morphing his face into an inquisitive and analytical squint. "There you are." His squint was soon replaced with a hearty grin as he once again skipped forward.

Darnic slowly tread backwards, aiming at The Man with other red bolts. However, The Man casually dodged, tilting his head this or that, bending his arm slightly, or just stepping out of the way, he avoided them all. Darnic could've blown The Man to shreds, but in unleashing the power to do so he would have killed everyone else in the room. However, everyone soon realized The Man was the only enemy in the room and stood up, pointing their hands at him, ready to sling similar curses as Darnic did. The Carnation guards at the door burst through, speeding towards him. The Man raised his hands in surrender, yelling "I come in peace!" Everyone besides Darnic lowered their arms, and the Carnations jumped up onto the table, restraining the man. They tried to take his book, but it simply floated into the air when they did.

Darnic jumped up onto the table, looking The Man directly in the eye, their faces mere inches from one anothers. Darnic studied him, looking from his leather shoes to his green eyes. "Who are you?" Darnic questioned authoritatively, his voice echoing through the room, carrying a wrath rarely seen from him.

The Man was still shaking, and smiled maniacally, probably enjoying the moment, "William Shakespeare at your service." He chuckled eagerly. An uproar exploded throughout the room. Commotion was a small word to describe it. Not that it wasn't justified, a man attacks a castle, claims he came in peace, and says he's William Shakespeare? How insane was that concept, not to mention his demented demeanor?

Darnic, surprisingly, didn't look shocked. Instead, his authority melted away, replaced with a somber, meek expression. His tall posture folded into itself, and painted the image of a half broken man. "Let him go…" he mumbled, turning his back on 'Shakespeare' and the guards and jumping down. He pulled up a chair at the head of the table, lowering himself down into it. "We will resume this meeting later. Everyone, please leave."

An ever bigger uproar consumed the room, with one voice rising above them all. It was that of Fiore's, and she intelligently asked "You don't honestly believe him, do you Darnic?"

He simply waved her off, saying "We'll discuss this later." This, however, only made the chaos worse. Darnic's rage grew rapidly until he finally screamed "Everyone...Get out!" The guards released 'Shakespeare,' and made their way to the entrance and held the doors open for everyone. We all reluctantly exited, but, when me and Zepter began to leave, Darnic once again raised his voice. "Giovanni, Sebrina, stay." he said sternly, pointing at the seats on either side of him. We complied quietly, obediently sitting down in the seats allotted to us.

'Shakespeare,' through all this, still stood on the table. Broken and knocked over pins littered the stone at his feet. Once everyone left, he once again chuckled. "Way to take charge, Darnic," He commented whilst leaping off the table and pulling out a chair next to me. He smelled like ancient, antique ink. His book still floated above the table, but it soon returned to his chest, his arm hugging it tightly. I eyed him warily, waiting for him to attack once more. Sebrina stared at Shakespeare's neck as to avoid eye contact.

Darnic's eyes were closed, and his hand held his tired face. He opened his eyes after a moment and evaluated 'Shakespeare.' "Are you actually William Shakespeare?" he asked pessimistically.

Shakespeare nodded, rolling up his sleeves. Red marks polluted his arm, twenty one faded and twenty one vibrant. "The Grail has sent me to-"

"No." Darnic grumbled. "I will not accept."

Shakespeare leaned back in his chair. He grinned madly and placed his feet onto the table. "You don't have a choice." He glanced forward at the map and pointed to the 21 faded marks on his arm. "I gave these to Lady Barthomeloi. She's already distributing them for me." His gaze met Darnics head on, challenging him. "Soon, she'll have seven army busting heroic spirits on the field. You saw their power during The Third Holy Grail War. You won't stand a chance."

Darnic's leaned forward "What?" His expression became deadly serious, his eyes running up and down Shakespeare's arms. "Wait, you have forty two command seals. Why?"

"The Grail requires more energy this time around." Shakespeare replies, lifting his hand rhetorically. "And, it's having trouble reaching out to worthy masters. So, it summoned me to mete out the Command Seals." He stared at me, seemingly piercing my soul: his eyes turned a deeper shade of green. "Darnic, I want you to distribute the seals to those you find worthy and, well, trust. You will fight the masters of The Association on the battlefield with your servants and armies. If you win, do as you wish. I'm simply here to ensure the Grail will be summoned."

Darnic also looked towards me, sighing. "I have no choice, then." I stared, bewildered. If, and only if, what Shakespeare said was true, we had no choice but to accept his offer, but...Darnic had a history with the Grail. He beckoned Shakespeare forward with his right hand, and stuck it outward, palm down.

Shakespeare took it and a red glow permeated the room. When it disappeared, Darnic's hand and, also, presumably his arm, were covered in command seals, taking the shape of a crown. "Pleasure doing business with you" Shakespeare stated, fading away as a resurrected gale wind blew him into paper once more and sent him flying out the shattered window. Venom dripped from his words and lingered in the moments of silence after his departure, burning itself into everyone's minds.

We remained silent for many minutes, simply digesting what just happened, before Darnic leaned forward in his seat. He got up, and made his way to the center of the War Table. Metal shards of the tactical pins cluttered the stone like dust - an unpleasant reminder of Shakespeare's actions mere minutes before. Darnic ignored the mess, and instead grabbed seven polished chess pieces (which he used as markers for units) from the table, five pawns and two bishops. He arrayed them in front of himself, taking his chin in his hand and squinting.

Zepter eyed both of us nervously and shuffled in her seat. Her gaze settled on Darnic once he left his seat. Growing tired of the silence, the typically withdrawn Sebrina spoke up "Are you okay, Darnic?" she muttered, miraculously mustering the courage midway through, with her volume increasing with each word. In the end, it was a comfortable inside voice, although it started out as barely audible.

Darnic's attention remained on the table, his awkward hand movements the only indication that he heard Zepter's question. His arms settled in front of his chest, crossing defensively. "Yes. Why wouldn't I be?" he asked rhetorically.

Sebrina's voice deformed into a long, meek 'uh,' so I decided to answer for her "Sir, you have an...unpleasant history with the grail. Are you not distressed?" I asked with the most monotone and professional voice I could manage.

Darnic's eyebrow twitched slightly, the only indication of his annoyance. "I'm fine. There's no point in getting worked up over this. If what Shakespeare said is right, Lorelei could be summoning historical death machines right this instant. We need some of our own…" His focus left the table, centering itself on me, intensity melting off of it "...You're still training, right Giovanni?"

"Yes, of course." I was still in my thirties, and I had been training daily since I was five. My family, a wandering band of magical martial arts fanatics, had definitely imbedded within me an obsession of combat, which is part of the reason why the Organization's army performed so well against even the most overwhelming odds.

"You'd be fine in combat?" He asked, signalling his intention

"I have a few fighting years left in me," I answered pridefully.

"Would you still be able to perform your duties if you joined the battle?" He asked, bleeding the one last bit of information he needed to make his final decision.

"Most of the field decisions are up to my underlings, and training has been taken over by my students," I replied candidly. Zepter's eyes flicked between me and Darnic, her interest obviously piqued.

"Would you be willing to join me in this Grail War, Giovanni?" He asked, extending his hand.

I required no thought in deciding my answer. My job had just become much easier as many veteran Carnations had become adept enough in their combat abilities to teach others. I simply made a speech at the beginning and end of each Division's training. My usefulness in the castle had diminished and I planned to enter the battlefield, even without the Grail War suddenly propping up. Elite mages were of great importance on the battlefield, making it so even Darnic and Lorelei were forced to join in on the bloodshed.

"If it will help the cause, of course." I returned the favor, and gripped Darnic's hand tightly. A familiar glow emanated from our hands and flooded the room with a red light. When it was finished, the back of my hand was utilized by three crimson marks, materializing in the familiar image of a monkey. I looked up at Darnic, who was now grimacing. "How will we summon the servants, though?" I inquired. It was a legitimate question seeing as we were under siege for the past year. If we couldn't access the outside world it was quite possible that we wouldn't have the artifacts required to summon competent servants.

Darnic seemed dumbfounded, but he quickly collected himself. "We have a stockpile of historical pieces. I'm sure we could find seven worthy catalysts." He answered, quelling my doubts. We had been collecting historical artifacts ever since the Organizations secret creation fifteen years ago. Most were of European origin, although that was, luckily, to our benefit due to our location in Europe. A heroic spirit's power was partly determined by their fame in any given location, making European heroes the most valuable in this region, especially those of Romanian descent or legend.

Sebrina opened her mouth, but closed it and looking down at the ground, "Want to say something, Zepter?" I asked softly.

She panned her gaze, and skimmed over my eyes before finally making port at Darnic's. "I want to join as well," She explained with the most confident voice she could conjure.

Both me and Darnic were shocked. Zepter wasn't prone to bold action, let alone commitments as large as a Grail War. "I'm not sure if your combat abilities are powerful enough, Zepter. You might survive in a regular Grail War, but this is fought on the battlefield. The people Lorelei chooses as masters will be equal to servants in combat ability because, unlike regular Grail Wars, the masters will probably be chosen by power. The mages chosen by Lorelei will…" Zepter shot up from her chair, interrupting me. She walked over to me slowly, skimming the table with her fingers. Finally before me, she outstretched her arm, and grabbed the air. "_Very funny, Zepter." _I tried to say, but no sound escaped my lips. Instead, I heard a loud thump, and discovered my body sprawled on the floor, breathless. She had removed my soul.

She then released her grip and I drifted downwards, landing on my own corpse. My eyes drew themselves open. I felt as if I had just woken up from a coma. Everything in my body felt out of place, like a puzzle incorrectly arranged. I tried to move my right arm, but instead twitched in my left shoulder. Sebrina realized my conundrum, gripping and pulling, on one side this time, then slightly tilting her to the right. The puzzle was solved and I was back to normal. "Could you do that on the battlefield?" I asked. It would make her quite the potent warrior, possibly more powerful than me if trained correctly. If she just got close to her opponent, she could displace their soul, removing them from the battle.

"Yes, although I'd need to keep my grip for a second for it to be any use. If I let go, the soul tends to drift towards its home. I require a few seconds of concentration to destroy any given soul. More, depending on its power or will. I also need to get within around half a foot of the person." She answered cooly, looking like a completely different person. She didn't cower from my gaze, instead she casually made eye contact with me. Although, she quickly returned to her meek self.

Darnic moved me aside gently with his arm, stepping forward with conviction. "Sebrina, are there any downsides to this...ability?" he asked, like a doctor searching for illnesses, past, present, and future.

"No. It doesn't really cost all that much mana. It just takes the correct knowledge. I know a few of my students who can do it, too. Although, they wouldn't be able to correct any mishaps in the process, or destroy the soul very efficiently." She explained, looking just below my eyes and smiling. "If one of my students removed your soul, you'd forever be unable to move your arm, Giovanni."

"Can this ability be learned in a timely fashion?" Darnic interjected right as I was about to respond.

"No. I would've told you if it could be." She responded.

Darnic sighed "Still, the very thought of what you could do with it excites me. However, if you want to join the Grail War, you must submit yourself for training by Giovanni. Giovanni, would it be possible to train her up to standard within the next two weeks?"

I looked Sebrina up and down, taking my chin in my hand. "I could teach her what she needs, although she wouldn't be quite up to the level of the Carnations in terms of skill. She'd need to train hard all day for a few weeks, though, not one or two." I managed to capture Sebrina's eyes to emphasise my next point. "I'll need to work you so hard that by the end of it, someone will have to stitch you back together."

Sebrina visibly shuddered. "I'll do it," she sighed.

"Good. Take my hand," Darnic said, outstretching his arm in invitation. Zepter took it and a red glow once again overtook the room. Once it was gone, Sebrina's right hand was covered in command seals in the shape of a Tesla Coil. "Alright…" Darnic trailed off, slipping into deep thought "...I do believe that the other commanders deserve an explanation, no?"

I nodded, knowing full well the ruckus it would cause within the castle. Darnic, a survivor of and unfortunate victim of The Holy Grail War, drawn into another conflict with army busting heroic spirits, alongside six other Organization mages against those of the Association. The entire battlefield would change, completely shifted by fourteen death machines. But, for some reason, I did not worry. I never truly did in the face of a battle, "Afterwards, we will need to decide which artifacts to use as catalysts, and gather other materials."

Darnic nodded, pulling a box out from under the table. From it, he drew a king, queen, bishop, knight, rook, and two pawns. He placed them at the edge of the table, pointing to them. "We will use these to represent our Master's." he explained. He pointed to the queen "This is you, Giovanni…" he shifted his pointing to the bishop "This is you, Sebrina."

We both nodded, understanding the difficulty of the battle to come. Although, Sebrina was most likely more aware of that. She was visibly shivering.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Kairi

The Mage's Association camp bustled with activity, which created a facade of confidence weaved by Lady Barthomeloi's most recent announcement. Lorelei recently came out as a master of The Grail War, sounding victory before she even summoned her servant. She saw it as her chance to bring glory to the Barthomeloi and repair her own damaged reputation. The leader of a failing army never gained much prestige, did they?

There was a reason for this. The Association's library of artifacts was the most vast in the world, having excavated most significant or magically powerful artifacts before archaeology was even a major science. They had thousands of possible summoning catalysts to choose from, which made it almost impossible to summon incompetent servants. However, that didn't stop Lorelei from strategically picking artifacts. All were ridiculously valuable, but each one came with a catch.

For example, she gave Lord El Melloi III, who was volunteered for the Great Grail War (as we were calling it) by the Archibald family for his experience during the 4th grail war, a piece of the Ancient Gate of Troy. This may seem like quite the generous gift from the Queen of Mages, but El Melloi, being a third rate mage, would have trouble supplying mana to any worthy servant summonable from said artifact. They'd all be so powerful that they'd eat through his mana like a colony of termites eats through wood.

Lorelei's own, however, was perfect for her intentions being The Bow of Hercules. Hercules' was quite possibly the most famous story in the history of myth. If she summoned him, hers would be the most powerful master-servant pair on the battlefield by far, no matter how powerful the heroes the Organization managed to conjure were. The most powerful mage with the greatest servant, ripping through enemy lines. Most of the time, Lorelei was stalemated by Darnic when she entered the battlefield, but if she had a man such as Hercules backing her, god be with Darnic. Lady Barthomeloi's plan was _almost_ perfect.

The reason why servants needed a relevant catalyst to be summoned was because people associate the hero with the given artifact, or it was significant to the hero. Just how famous the hero was determined their power, and it also determined how they were summoned. However, the summoner's emotional and interpersonal compatibility with any given hero also determined who they summoned. For example, depending on who El Melloi was most compatible with, he could summon anyone from Prince Hector of Troy to Achilles. Therefore, depending upon whether or not anyone (besides Hercules) held The Bow Of Hercules at any point or time, Lorelei might not have summoned Hercules, but someone like Philoctetes who also reportedly held the bow. Lorelei would've loved to believe that she was the perfect master for Hercules, but I somehow doubted that.

The Grail could summon both real and mythological heroes. This was because any given legend could become famous enough to materialize into something _spiritually _real, but not necessarily factual. Anything famous enough could be engraved upon The Throne Of Heroes, where heroic spirits are stored. The Grail gave these spirits a body, which made them technically real, although all spirits must be provided mana to remain on this Earth. That's why people like Hercules, who were confirmed to be fictional, could be summoned. The Bow that Lorelei possessed was simply a powerful bow the Greeks created to represent Hercules feats of archery.

Forested Transylvanian hills painted the landscape a vivid green. Lady Barthomeloi planned to summon the servants in a clearing of the forest, and this gave us privacy in case anything went wrong. After everything was in order, she would present the army with the servants. If a servant went berserk, she didn't want it ripping through her own army.

Oak and beech trees flooded the area with a sea of vibrant chlorophyll. It absorbed the sunlight eagerly, turning it into a hearty sustenance. A wave of light flooded through the trees in front of me. I was near my destination, and I pondered what type of servant I would summon, running my fingers over the box I kept my piece of the round table in.

There were seven classes, three of which, the knight classes, were considered the most powerful in combat. These were Saber, Lancer, and Archer. The other four could be just as powerful in other ways, although their skills in direct combat weren't always as good. These were rider, caster, assassin, and berserker. Berserkers rivalled the knight classes, although they were hard to control and consumed mana like an alcoholic chugged alcohol.

I didn't want any one class in particular - I truly didn't have any desire to deal with a mindless berserker, though. I could've fought with and supported my heroic spirit from any range, so it truly didn't matter what class I summoned. I only pondered what type of person they'd be. The knights of the round table were all chivalrous, unless the treacherous version of Mordred's legend was true. I _didn't _want to deal with any stuck up, hoidy toidy knights. They would only get in my way. That was the catch and the reason why Lorelei gave me a piece of the round table. I _wouldn't _be able to stand even the most depraved of knights. Actually, I take that back. There were plenty of knights even worse than me.

I approached the opening warily. The other six masters stood tall with Lorelei in the middle creating a magical circle with the help of a long, black haired man. She wore a similar blouse and bow combo as last time I saw her, but with a velvet knee high skirt instead of pants, alongside ebony stockings. Brown boots, covered in earthy mud, hugged her legs up to the calves. Hercule's bow hung from her back by the string. It was a beautiful weapon, looking ridiculous in poundage. Truly, only a demigod could've fired it. Gold vines highlighted it's perfectly crafted shape.

The man wore a red Jacket, looking as if it had just come out of the 1800s, with dark, silky dress pants and amber colored shoes. A silver necklace hung from his neck, and swung silently in the air whenever he bent down. He was Lord El-Melloi III, a famous and yet quite mediocre mage. He was known for reforming the famous Archibald family, second to and loyal ally of the Barthomelois. However, El-Melloi wasn't the leader of the household. Rather, he was simply warming the seat for the next heir to come of age. If the rumors were to be believed, he himself supposedly killed the previous Family Head, Kayneth. They were both participants in the 4th Holy Grail War, afterall. But, that was almost thirty years ago. In fact, it was said that the Archibald heir had just come of age, and that volunteering El-Melloi to this Grail war was simply a convenient way to get rid of him.

Four other mages stood on the rim of the circle, talking quietly amongst themselves. I recognized them all, since they were all individuals of significant renown in the army. The one closest to me, Corrin, was only a mage by technicality. He lived in the area around Trifas before the war. Apparently, the Organization had been sharing magic with small populations years before they had formally revealed themselves. They spread it amongst small villages. All I knew about Corrin was that, somehow, his village was devastated by Darnic's open magic policy. He wasn't actually a member of The Association, but rather fought the Yggdmillennia as a vigilante years before our arrival having joined up with the first group of mages we sent to the area.

Corrins hair was short and roughly cut with a few patches sticking up. His stubble was ill-maintained, looking as if he had never groomed it. His build was muscular but thin, and aviators hung off of the collar of his camo puffer jacket. A holster hugged his hip, holding a revolver so grand that just the thought of the recoil made my hand hurt. A utilitarian ammo bag sat on his right side, and his opposite side hand was missing all of its fingers, including the thumb. The stumps sat eerily on his hand.

I never interacted with Corrin, I had a feeling I wasn't alone in this fact. Whenever I saw him, he was sitting alone, cleaning his revolver with his face adopting a wrathful expression. He was perfect for this war. I heard his kill count was tailing mine, although I never saw him fighting enough to gauge if this was true. Currently, he was pacing back and forth impatiently, his eyes closed in an oxymoronic tranquility.

The next was Machiavelli Ricci. An Italian mage, he was named after the famous diplomat. Despite this, he was antisocial to everyone besides the most esteemed scholars. Honored amongst the elite of The Association as one of the greatest alchemists alive, I wasn't surprised to see him. Wrinkles inhabited his thin face, and painted the picture of a sixty year old man. His hair was sleeked back absentmindedly, looking thin and raggedy. A trench coat covered his torso and legs all the way down to his knees, and he was fingering something in his pocket obsessively. Machi was quite possibly the most famous master besides Lorelei or El-Melloi, mostly due to his ability to extract sun essence from gold, although I had no idea how he did it or what the purpose of it was. All I knew was that every soldier was issued one bottle of the stuff. and it could heal any wound in a jiffy.

The third was Bram Nuada-Re Sola-Ri. At least, that was the name his despot parents gave him. Everyone, besides the stuck up elite of the Association, called him Bram. He was probably the most attractive of the group, with his ginger hair framing his chiseled face, and he wore a suit so stylish that it was dull. He was the heir to the Summoning Department of The Association and was giving Lorelei and El-Melloi instructions.

The Fourth was an Association enforcer known as Augustus. I didn't know his last name. The only people who did were the ones who filed his paperwork. Augustus led the first assault on Trifas, which consisted of two hundred enforcers plus Corrin. He had the most experience - besides Corrin - in the dealings of the Yggdmillennia. Besides that, his combat abilities were ridiculous. I saw him survive a blast that would turn any castle to ash. I was lucky that he wasn't part of the Organization because, if he was, I would be utterly screwed. I didn't know how his kill count wasn't double mine, and, out of everyone, I had the best working relationship with him.

His brunette hair scraped the tops of his shoulders and his bangs were held out of his eyes by a professionally black hair clip. Said clip couldn't be noticed from a distance. During battle, he put his hair into a man bun. Contradicting his hippy-esque hair, He wore an army style camo jacket and pants with an olive green undershirt and combat boots. He looked like any drill sergeant's nightmare. Typically, he would've been smoking at a time like that, but I'm sure, if he did, it would've messed with the summoning circle Lorelei, El Melloi, and Bram were making. Instead, he was joking absentmindedly with Machi. Augustus was the only one laughing.

As I approached, Lorelei noticed my presence. "Ah, Kairi" she said, leaning over while painting the ground with an aqueous, metallic substance "You're late." Crossing her arms, her face scrunched up in an 'I'm so much better than you' look. "Don't you realize how important this is? That this is our chance to claim glory…"

"And victory. You know, saving the lives of countless mages" El-Melloi interjected.

Reaching an almost wrathful expression, Lorelei's face contorted into what I'd picture the devil would look like. "Don't interrupt me," she commanded.

El-Melloi shrugged "Sorry," he sighed.

Lorelei hadn't yet been placated, however. She placed her hands on her hips, which smudged her skirt with silvery metal, and stared me down like a lion stalking its supper. "This summoning is important. Arrive when instructed," She directed, turning around, satisfied that she had said the last word.

I rolled my eyes. "You're not even done. Why arrive when you told me to?"

She jerked around towards me suddenly, seething with animosity. However, she reigned in her anger, enough to almost nobly spit out "Because it's good manners," and turned back around. Everyone gawked at us, besides El-Melloi. He seemed intent on purposefully avoiding giving our ordeal attention.

Bram interjected just after Lorelei's self pacification, "The summoning circle's almost done. Who will go first?" he inquired.

Lorelei peeked at him for a second before returning to work "Kairi," she clarified. Grabbing the box I kept my catalyst in from my pocket, I simply nodded. Least to greatest was the order that day, it seemed. At least, from Lorelei's point of view. With a few metallic finger strokes, the circle was finished. It was a beautiful thing, shiny white solomon seals overlapped over each other. Solomon the Wise was the first mage so most summoning was based off of his work evoking Ars Goetia. Most of the time the circles were blood red, but it seemed like this summoning required different materials.

A pedestal was imbedded in the ground just behind the circle. I placed my box atop it (carefully, so as not to smudge the circle by stepping on one of the lines). The circle began to exhibit a luminous glow that rivaled the sun in intensity. The group shielded their eyes, besides Corrin. He simply slid on his sunglasses. Bram stepped forward cautiously, gifting me a slip of paper. It read:

"_Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation. Let red be the color I pay tribute to. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall. Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate. Let it be declared now; your flesh shall serve under me, and my fate shall be with your sword. Submit to the beckoning of the Holy Grail. Answer, if you would submit to this will and this truth. An oath shall be sworn here. I shall attain all virtues of all of Heaven; I shall have dominion over all evils of all of Hell."_

"Say that, please, Oh, and outstretch your arm. Hand open." he said, pacing back out of the way.

I recited the summoning incantation loudly, pausing every few moments to look at my instructions. When I was finished, the glowing circle flashed violently, almost as if a nuclear bomb had gone off, but no physical consequences came about. Instead, when the flash ended, a figure in full plate armour with a greatsword stood erect. Their armor looked 16th century, which was curious because The Round Table was an 8th century knighthood. Scarlet highlights were etched on the end of each piece of metal, creating an almost stormy appearance. The Knight himself was around five foot six, barely reaching my chin in height. He looked around, scanning me and then the rest of the mages in the area, ending his search on the piece of The Round Table. He strutted over to it, taking it in his hand. He turned around and addressed me. "Are you my master?" they questioned in a resonant, echoey voice. I couldn't quite make out the tone or octave of it through their helmet.

"Yes."

He motioned towards the piece of The Round Table in their hand. "Before we pact, can I have that?"

I looked at Lorelei. She nodded "We have more pieces of it."

"Sure, then," I answered.

"Good," The knight took their greatsword by the hilt, and slammed it into the ground. They outstretched their right hand. I took it and the circle glowed once again, more faintly than before.

"Sir Mordred of The Round Table, and Saber in The Holy Grail War, at your service,"

How did I see this coming?

"The Betrayer Knight?" I asked, somewhat exasperated.

Mordred looked down thoughtfully for a moment. He nodded subtly - so subtly that I barely noticed. He then looked at my peers once more. "Who are they?" he asked, pointing.

"We're allies. I'll explain later." Lorelei interrupted just as I was going to answer Mordred. "Machiavelli, You're next."

"Alright," Machi huffed. He removed something from his pocket, probably what he was fingering before. It was a perfectly crafted golden earring, striking in appearance. Machi replaced me in front of the circle and placed his artifact, mouthing the summoning incantation when I slipped him the parchment it was written on. He raised his arm, which shook erratically, and recited the incantation hesitantly.

The same glow consumed the forest, but another figure emerged from it. Long, charcoal hair neatly tucked behind beaten up, scarred ears. Said ears wore earrings exactly like the one Machi used as a catalyst, engraved beautifully. His torso was shrouded by a bronze-gold chestplate which radiated energy. It was spotless. A crimson cape was pinned onto his shoulders via grey bolts and his arms had no apparel. His legs were covered in plain, battle worn onyx pants. Armoured boots, smudged and nicked on the armour in an endless pattern of war, clung to his feet up to his mid calves. His skin was a deep chestnut, making him the first colored man of the group. A spear stuck up from behind his back.

He inspected the area as if he were a king inspecting his army. His eyes settled on Machi. "So, You're the man who summoned me?"

"Uh...Yes," Machi replied.

"Well, let's get this over with." He reached his arm out with a casual authority.

Machi meekly returned the offer "Machiavelli."

"Karna, lancer class."

Realization flashed in Lorelei's eyes "_The Karna?"_

Karna bobbed his head up and down dramatically, confirming Lorelei's inquiry. "You're lucky to have such a...famous Heroic spirit, Machi," She looked down and then shook her head. "Corrin, you're next."

Corrin simply silently replaced Machi, who offered him the summoning paper. He refused, waving Machi off with his fingerless left hand. He pulled his catalyst out, a shackle, shattered and splintered and rusted to hell. It looked thousands of years old.

He recited the incantation perfectly, putting emphasis on lines referring to heavenly - and hellish - bodies. The circle suddenly glowed blood red, exploding violently into a circus of color to challenge the previous two.

The result was a large, blonde man, at least eight feet tall. Layered plates of shiny, smudged, and dented steel protected his chest and shoulders, while a skirt covered his more exclusive parts. His hair was similar to Augustus', although it was stringy and dry looking, and probably had not been washed. Stumps of roughly cut hair stuck out from jawline. A gladius, much larger than I had ever seen before, fit for a normal man to swing with two hands, was held on his hip. He looked calm for a second, and quietly observed the area around him in a similar fashion to the previous two servants, but his sanity seemed to slowly melt away until a wide, unnatural smile knitted itself with his lips. He unsheathed his blade, and smashed it down onto the ancient chains that summoned him. Metal shrapnel flung itself into the air and he sprinted at Corrin. He swung wildly, screaming at the top of his lungs "Mors Romam!"

Corrin side stepped the man skillfully, hopping onto his back and pulling out his revolver. The holster didn't do it justice. Deep canyons in the various external parts created the striking image of flame, leading it way up to the thin, terrifyingly long barrel. Corrin pressed the barrel against the man's temple harshly, securing his legs around the man's back, completing the motion by locking them in a triangle around the stomach. "Kneel," Corrin hissed.

The man complied and lowered his front knee to the ground. He dropped his sword, his eyes consumed with a mortal fear. "Who are you?" Corrin asked while pressing the barrel harder into the man's temple.

"Sparticus, Berserker class," he blurted out frantically. His eyes shifted from erratically from side to side.

"Do you feel like dying today, Sparticus?" Corrin asked rhetorically.

Sparticus began to visibly sweat. His knee trembled "N...n...o."

"Then pact with me. Then, maybe you'll have a chance of surviving this grail war." Corrin explained.

"An inexcusable insubordination. Out of the question," Sparticus replied. He ceased trembling, throwing Corrin off of his back and into the tree line.

Corrin landed on his feet gracefully. We all armed ourselves, thanking the powers that be that Sparticus was summoned here and not in camp. However, Corrin waved us off, and stared Sparticus down. "Oh, really now?" Corrin contemptuously said, trailing off. He reached into his ammo bag, ruffling around in it for a second before pulling out a large bullet. He loaded it into the right most slot of his revolver, replacing the equally large bullet previously held there. "I'll tell you what, _Spartacus…_" he said, spinning the cylinder on his hand cannon "this gun holds 45-70 govt rounds. I'm sure that means nothing to you, but let's just say that all _four _of these bullets in this here gun will pulverize your tiny brain…" he aimed "Especially the bullet I just loaded. Let's just say that if that one hits you, your body will slowly melt into a fine paste. Now, do you want to play a game?"

Spartacus once again charged, plucking his sword from the ground. He swung in all directions. Left, right, forward, diagonal, but Corrin dodged every blow like a master acrobat. But Sparticus was pushing Corrin, who was now breathing heavily, back towards the tree line.

Right before his back hit a tree, Corrin rolled under Sparticus, who's latest swing plunged his gladius deep into the tree, sticking it. Corrin pressed the barrel of his revolver against the back of Sparticus' head. "Pact or die. You have three seconds." His breathing was short and controlled. It seemed he was simply putting on a show.

"Three"

"You think you can do this?"

"Two"

"I've survived far too long to be killed by the likes of you!" He pulled on his sword. It wouldn't budge. The tree shook neutrally.

Corrin cocked the hammer on his revolver "One."

"I, Sparticus, will never die!" He howled, letting go of his sword and kicking Corrin off of his feet. A gunshot shrieked it's way into every crevice of the woods, and deafened everyone present.

Corrin flipped backwards, once again landing on his feet. His revolver fell a few feet in front of Sparticus. Spartacus himself stood tall, facing down Corrin with murder in his eyes. He blitzed Corrin once again, and kicked at his head. Corrin ducked under, Sparticus' shin shoving his ungroomed hair into an upright position. It seemed Corrin had reached his acrobatic limits because he fell anticlimactically. Sparticus eyed him, crazed ambition and surprise dwelling in his facial expression. He walked over to Corrin slowly, and picked him up by the throat. "It seems you've reached your limit, little man." He chuckled. Corrin was audibly choking.

The group once again armed themselves: Mordred and Karna unsheathed their weapons. But, Corrin gave a weak thumbs up. He gripped Sparticus' arms. His life slowly drained out of him. He grunted and heaved: his fingers dug into Spartcus' arm. He closed his eyes and seemingly gave up. "Goodbye, puny man," Sparticus bragged.

Corrin spat in his face. Mordred seemed to have reached his limit, rushing Sparticus and yelling "enough!" However, before he could make it within twenty feet of the dueling duo, Sparticus squealed in pain. He knelt down in submission, his skin bubbling where Corrins fingers dug into his arm.

Corrin acted fast, swiftly retrieving his pistol from the ground. Sparticus' skin stopped boiling suddenly, any semblance of any burn being purified by an unknown force. He made to get up, but Corrin stopped him by shooting him in the leg three times, consecutively. First in the ankle, knee, and, finally, in a spout of blood and bone shards, the section where his leg and hip met. The shots rang in my ears like a choir trying to break glass.

The wounds closed, wheezing and magically stitching themselves back together. Corrin reloaded two shots and walked back over to Sparticus, shooting him twice more, this time in the chest and neck. Spartacus grunted in pain, falling back down on both knees. Corrin once again held his gun to Sparticus' temple, gasping for air.

"Pact...or...die" he cocked the hammer, readying the last, skin melting bullet. " I won't ask agai-"

"I, Sparticus, will never die!" He screamed once again, this time with fear corroding the confidence of every word. He outstretched his right arm in surrender, and a golden light engulfed him for a moment before disappearing.

"Good." Corrin accepted the surrender, shaking Sparticus' oversized hand with an exhausted glee. Sparticus got up, visibly slumped over, and lumbered over to his sword. He looked to Corrin "You...are...my…" he paused for a moment, disdain written on his face "...master," he said while removing his blade from the tree he stuck it in. The leaves shook loudly.

Corrin trailed Sparticus: reloading his revolver, he placed the skin melting bullet back in his bag. Everyone, ears in pain from enduring the six gun shots, was visibly fatigued. Besides Lorelei, she still stood tall. "You're both worthy warriors. I'm glad to have both of you," she said a little too loudly, contradicting her unaffected appearance. They both ignored her. Corrin cracked his knuckles against his torso, grunting. I could hear his bones creak with every movement.

"You alright?" I whispered.

"Yes," he replied with abrasive hostility, so I decided to shut up.

Lorelei turned to scan the group and sighed. "Bram, you're up." she said, intent on moving on. Everyone sheathed their weapons, but kept their hands on the hilts just in case another outburst occurred.

Bram anxiously stepped up, revealing a fossil, seemingly of some type of plant. In life, it must have been beautifully lush. He dusted the altar with his hands, removing the metal pieces unleashed during Spartacus' outburst. He then placed the artifact down gently and turned back.

He began to methodically recite the incantation; almost like a student reciting vocabulary. The circle colored itself a queer blue, quite different from the previous summons. From the erudite blue emerged a womanly shape. A woman adorned with a black, form fitting dress that looked pre-hellenistic. It was a raven black piece of clothing with skillfully - and expensively - made gold highlights accentuating her figure. Her hair was long and intricately styled, and formed a hairy parade of royalty. She quietly inspected her surroundings with a (what I could only describe as) political acuity. Satisfied, she greeted Bram. "So, you're my master. What's your name?"

"Bram Nuada-Re Sola-Ui," He replied, concern in his voice.

"Ah, a beautiful name. I am Semiramis, caster class servant, and I humbly join you with hopes of acquiring, and sharing, the grail. Let us pact." She said with a subtle power leaking from her words like water through cracks in a damn. Lorelei looked somewhat agitated.

"The Semiramis? As in, Queen of Ancient Assyria and Babylon?" Lorelei asked with a calm tone which belied her true feelings.

"Indeed," Semiramis answered.

Lorelei sighed, "go on, pact then."

Bram outstretched his hand hesitantly and Semiramis took it lightly, rubbing it slightly. They filed into line with everyone else afterwards, Semiramis idly asking about modern day customs, everything from table manners to romance. Bram answered every question with as short of a response as he could manage.

Lorelei sighed, taking the top of her nose in her hand. "Augustus…"

"I get it. Had to go at some point right?" Augustus asked me. He bumped me with his shoulder competitively "How're you doing, Kai-"

"Hurry up," Lorelei interjected impatiently. Augustus complied by pulling his catalyst out. It was a fiery, red blade, looking as if it had bathed in both blood and water for hours on end - not to mention its age. A worn hilt was loosely attached to the blade. Both pieces wobbled wildly. Augustus placed it on the altar hastily and stood before the circle, posture pointed upwards.

He casually recited the summoning words, having heard them enough to memorize them at this point. The summoning circle actually darkened the area this time around, a vast void gluttonously absorbing every bit of light in the clearing. Light once again dawned in the clearing, alongside an elderly figure fashionably wearing noble Roman armor, much nicer and expensive looking than Spartacus'. It looked as if it had never seen battle. His skirt was embroidered leather, leading down to boots made of the same material. The whole outfit crafted the look of a powerful Roman Noble. A sword exactly like the catalyst was on his hip, although it looked much newer. He put his hand on its hilt. His face was old and etched with wrinkles that bled experience and wealth. He stared at Augustus for a moment. He then bowed elegantly. "It is a pleasure to be summoned by you, master. I am Marcus Junius Brutus the Younger, assassin class…" He brought his head back up "and you are?"

"Augustus." He answered, taken off guard by Brutus' royal manners.

Brutus raised his eyebrows "You're named after Caesar's heir?"

"I believe so, yes. Although, it's a common name now so I might just be _accidentally _named after him." Augustus explained, hoping to not offend Brutus.

"Does the Roman Republic still exist?" Brutus asked, trying to remain polite, although his frantic anxiety leaking through his words.

"No. Its last city fell around six hundred years ago. The city itself does, though," Augustus answered.

Brutus clenched his fist around the hilt of his sword. His knuckles turned white. "What state currently is on top, if any?"

"Well, America I guess. Rome inspires basically every government today. In fact, America is a Democratic Republic." Augustus answered.

Brutus' knuckles gained back most of their color "And I suppose that's good enough." He grumbled.

"So, are you the Brutus that assassinated Julius Caesar?" Lorelei interjected.

"To protect the Republic, yes," Brutus answered, looking at Lorelei. His eyes drew themselves to Spartacus, "Who are you, camarad?"

Spartacus, I soon realized, was making a face of pure malice. He audaciously strutted over to Brutus, stopping when he was a mere foot away from him. Brutus barely reached his mid chest in height. "Spartacus!" He cried, pulling his sword out out swinging it diagonally towards Brutus' neck. Brutus grabbed Spartacus' sword hand wrist. He stopped Spartacus' blow in its tracks, his arm shaking with stored, unharnessed power. Brutus retaliated by sliding his sword out of its masterfully made scabbard, slashing with blinding speed at Spartacus' neck. It embedded itself halfway through, blood springing out in a vivid stream of violence. Spartacus fell over, his body falling on the ground with an unpleasant, mortal thump. His eyes twitched.

Brutus retrieved his sword. He brought it up to his face to inspect the blade, bringing out a handkerchief and some oil. He combined them to wash the metal until it was shiny enough to be a Roman Noble's Mirror. Once he finished, he took Augustus' hand in a symbol of a consent for a pact. "What was that about?" Augustus inquired

"He hated Rome. I love it. The devastation he caused drained much from the treasury. He deserved his fate..." Brutus trailed off, realizing that life had returned to Spartacus' body.

Spartacus shot up, defeat written on his face and his neck stitching itself back together with a reluctant hiss. "I, Sparticus, will never die!" He screamed. Another golden light enveloped him. He returned to his place in the group next to Corrin.

Brutus moved for his sword once more, but Augustus stopped him with a cautionary hand "We need him." He warned. Sighing, Brutus sheathed his sword. Augustus following him, He moved into the group opposite Spartacus.

Lorelei looked bewildered, but she decided to move on. "El-Melloi." She called out.

"Yes, Lady Barthomeloi," he answered respectfully. He pulled out his piece of the Gate of Troy. It was remarkably well preserved. A shiny endurance worthy of stalemating an army covered it. He placed it on the pedestal and rushed through the summoning incantation, eager to get the whole affair over with. A flash was a small word to describe the result. It was more of an explosion. Golden light enveloped the area, penetrating every crack and crevice with its radiance. It produced a single dominant figure. A man in full bronze armor, that of a hoplite. The chestplate was adorned with the image of a goddess dipping an infant into a river by the heel. The wrist guards depicted flowing waters and raging fire, a strange contradiction in design. He clutched a shield in his right hand. A spiral of various events rotated into an image of a field of wheat, a path running through it. The scenes following up to it depicted farming, famine, war, and peace. His helmet hid a chiseled, handsome face and was the medium of the story of a war. A picture of a gate was in the back, battling armies surrounding it. The man looked up, pointing with his spear. "Are you the man who summoned me?" he asked plainly.

"Yes," El-Melloi answered in a matter of fact tone.

"I am Achilles, rider class. Do you believe yourself worthy to be my master?" Achilles asked, completely serious. A stoic look was upon his face.

El Melloi looked down thoughtfully for a second. His face contorted into a visceral emotional pain. He took his face in his hand to conceal it. "No…" he said, removing his hands and looking Achilles in the eyes "but I must try."

Achilles looked surprised. "Then…" he approached El Melloi "you are truly worthy." Achilles took El Melloi's hand, pacting with him. "What's your name?"

"Waver Velvet." El Melloi answered candidly. That was his name before he took the name El-Melloi, Kayneth's moniker. he wiped his eyes.

"We will discuss matters later, Waver," Achilles said with a pat on Wavers back.

Lorelei sighed. She was shaking whilst she removed Hercules bow from her back. She leaned to one side due to its weight. "My turn," she shuddered. The bow couldn't fit on the podium safely, so she just leaned the bow on the side of it. She moved backwards slowly. Her breathing was frantic and anxious, and her arm trembled when she brought it up. This was the first time I had ever seen her so emotional: even in utter defeat she was typically stoic. She recited the summoning words, pausing a few times to avoid mistakes. Afterwards, a pillar of light shot out from the summoning circle, piercing the sky. Unlike the previous outward expansion of the light, this seemed aimed for the heavens. Lorelei adopted a relieved smile, almost crying in joy. This, however, stopped when a figure emerged from the light.

A man wearing white and blue silk robes and a turban. His facial hair was gruff but well kept. His skin was dark, not white but still lighter than Karna's. His brown eyes carried an authoritative, competitive edge that would've made me shudder in excitement outside of this context. An exact copy of Hercules bow was in his hand, and he heaved it around effortlessly.

The pillar of light disappeared with Loreleis dreams in tow. She looked like a wreck, posture slumped slightly and tears ducts ready to break open. The man noticed this. "What is the matter? Am I too magnificent for you?" he joked.

Lorelei shook her head "Why do you have that?" She said, pointing to the bow.

"Because it's beautiful and powerful. I was captivated by it as soon as I stepped foot in the temple…" the man trailed off "...and, it's a symbol."

"Of what?" Lorelei asked, tired of the man already.

"My submission of Greece and Byzantium," he answered pridefully.

"You're no Hercules," Lorelei jabbed, wiping her eyes.

"Oh, that's what you're angry about?" The man materialized an arrow in his hand, effortlessly notching it and aiming the bow at the sky. The bow creaked as he pulled the string. When he fired, the force produced a godly gale, and almost blew everyone off of their feet. The arrow shot through the tree line, blowing an army of leaves into the sky. The moon shined unreachable above. The man stood tall, staring at the moon expectantly as leaves coated him in a strangely fitting green. We all looked in wonder as a storm of rock and debris broke off from the moon, being pulled into the atmosphere. In its place, a giant crater stood.

"Do not insult my skills, women, for I am quite Herculean," The man sneered. "I am Mehmed The Conqueror, Sultan of The Ottoman Empire and true heir to Caesar's legacy. I am as clever as Julius and as strong as Hercule, you will find..." he motioned for Lorelei to pact with him "...and I come to you in the class of archer," Mehmed said. Brutus was shuffling about, and white knuckling his sword's handle again.

Lorelei was drowned in emotion. Uncertainty was upon her face, but she took Mehmed's hand nonetheless. "I guess I have no choice," She sighed.

"Whether you do or not is irrelevant. I am truly the superior option, no matter the choices available," Mehmed bragged.

Loreleis eyes twitched "I somehow doubt that," She said, her words coated with resentment.

"What you do or not believe doesn't change reality," Mehmed answered with a terrifying certainty. He clenched his fist in a hidden rage.

"Touche'" Lorelei added, shooting for the last word. Mehmed didn't even bother replying. He seemed to have had enough. He eyed Achilles, looking as if he had witnessed an old friend across the street, and walked toward him.

When Mehmed passed him, Brutus interrupted his walk.. "You think yourself worthy of Caesar's legacy?" He asked contemptuously.

"I surpass it," Mehmed answered, facing Brutus. Achilles tread over to the duo with an anxious haste.

Brutus slid his sword halfway out the scabbard, but Augustus once again cautioned him. He slid it back in, "Despot," he murmured.

"What is your name, friend?" Mehmed asked. He seemed on the verge of laughter. Achilles reached the two, and he stood in front of Mehmed and to the right a few feet.

"Marcus Junius Brutus the Younger." Brutus answered bluntly.

"Ah, the treacherous senator. Oh, how great The Empire could've been if you simply stayed your blade," Mehmed taunted. Brutus simply grunted angrily. "Trust me when I say this: a simple knife will not end my legacy." Mehmed added, turning his back in a 'come and get me' gesture and walking past Brutus.

Brutus broke. A knife, beautiful and wicked in intention, materialized in his hand. "Sic Semper Tyrannis!" He shouted with a rumbling wrath, taking the knife in an underhand grip and plunging downward whilst a red aura surrounded the blade.

Mehmed dodged the blow, rolling forward and notching an arrow. He pulled the string back. The foundations of the bow creaked with stored, devastating power. He shot the arrow, light distorting around it as it sped towards Brutus' heart. His death seemed certain. However, Achilles intercepted the arrow and caught it midair with a blinding show of agility. "Enough of your childish power moves, both of you," he commanded.

Mehmed smiled with excitement. "Oh. And you are?"

"Achilles."

Mehmed got back onto his feet. "Ah, then you're quite the worthy hero," Mehmed said, slinging his bow onto his shoulder by the string. "I am finished with my 'power moves,' I suppose." He joined the group, and purposefully stood next to Spartacus. Mehmeds head reached his pectorals, his turban popping just above his collar bone.

Lorelei still stood just before the summoning circle. She seemed to still have trouble registering everything that just happened, as did everyone, as she stared at Mehmed, her blank eyes conveying that she was deep in thought. She stood straight once more, dusting leaves that fell onto her during Mehmed's demonstration. She cleared her throat, targeting Brutus, Mehmed, and Spartacus with glares sharp as daggers. "No more fighting." she mandated "We are a team. The only way we'll bring down the Organization is if we work together."

All the servants looked at each other, puzzled. Brutus seemed to realize the problem, speaking up and asking "What is this Organization you speak of? And, why are we on teams? Aren't we supposed to fight?"

Lorelei realized her folly. She hadn't actually explained the situation. All the servants, besides Mordred, just saw the cordial manner in which we all interacted and assumed we were allies. They didn't know why we were allies or how. The idea of a faction based grail war wasn't initially intended, but rather fabricated by Shakespeare.

"Oh, right…" Lorelei formulated her thoughts for a moment before explaining the situation. She laid everything out. The war, how it started, escalated, and became as dire as it had during the mass route of the most recent battle, how desperately The Association needed a morale boost, and how Shakespeare arrived almost out of nowhere and gave Lorelei command seals to distribute. Brutus asked the most questions, trying to fully understand the war and its motives. Mehmed asked a few as well, his being more specifically about troop numbers, abilities, and supplies. Everyone else was silently listening, besides a few whispers between Bram and Semiramis. "Alright, any more questions?" Lorelei asked.

"I have one." Achilles spoke up, beating Brutus and Mehmed to the punch. "If we win, what will happen to the grail? Who will get to keep it?"

Lorelei was silent for a moment. "If you wish to fight amongst yourselves after we win, then do it. Just save the backstabbing until we win." She observed every servant for a second "Now, I would like to bring you all back to camp. There, we can formulate a plan."

"I have one more question," Achilles interrupted "Why should we fight for you?"

Lorelei was stunned but quickly collected her bearings "Because you'll die if you don't." She answered.

Every servant nodded, in full understanding that they'll have to work together for the moment, even if they detest each other.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Achilles

The Forest shrouded the light of the coming morning, and small flickers of light broke through an army of leaves like cavalry after a charge. Apparently, Lady Barthomeloi wanted our summoning to be quite secret: we were miles into the Forest, at least.

That didn't matter much to me, though. Any type of life, no matter the work or sacrifice involved in living it, was worth. In the end, it was a chance to rectify the mistakes of my past. Besides, the Forrest was quite beautiful. I couldn't remember if I had been in anything like it in life. The vibrant green leaves framed the wooden texture of their parent trees, which were surrounded by winding paths littered with undergrowth. Barthomeloi said this country was just north of Greece, but I could hardly believe it.

Right now, the group was scattered into small chunks, all making conversation. Mehmed told grand stories of conquest to Karna, Bram, and Semiramis (and anyone else willing to listen). Kairi and Mordred were speaking about fights or duels they had gotten into outside the battlefield. Everyone else, besides me, Corrin and Spartacus, was in a giant group talking and learning more about the war. Suddenly, Brutus broke off from the group, walking towards me with silver tongued intent.

"Achilles, right?" He asked rhetorically. I nodded "Well, thanks for saving me before. I'd rather be alive, however shamefully, than be splattered over splintered trees."

"You think you would've died?" I asked. I thought Brutus would've had the speed to dodge the arrow, but maybe not.

"Yes. I was taken quite off guard. And, my senses were dulled with anger." He glanced at Mehmed, "No matter how treacherous that man is, my attempt to kill him has only made things much more difficult. I wish I hadn't tried." He looked back at me, "Although, I'm very much looking forward to gutting the bastard once we win."

I winced "killing is not something to enjoy," I said, correcting him.

"You didn't enjoy killing Prince Hector?" He surgically asked. This man seems much more suited to being an assassin wielding words, not a knife. He hit me right in the softest spot I had.

"I did, and I'm ashamed of that. He killed Patroclus, sure, but that only happened because I refused to fight." I explained, making eye contact throughout my explanation. "Patroclus stole and donned my armor in order to inspire the Greeks. Hector killed who he thought was me. It was all my fault."

"You're much different than you were in The Iliad," Brutus added, looking forward thoughtfully.

"What's that?" I asked. I'd never heard that name before.

"It's a story set during the Trojan War. It was written by Homer," Brutus explained.

"Well, I'd hope so. I was an arrogant, braggadocios bastard in life. I hope to correct that." I looked down at my feet for a moment "Think about this: how many Greeks died because I refused to fight?"

Brutus scratched his chin for a second before answering, "A few thousand?"

"I did the math during Hector's funeral ceremony. Six thousand Greeks died, just in that one decision of inaction, because of me. Now, think about how many people I killed in duels or bar fights, or those I slew on the battlefield. That's makes the number at least ten thousand, possibly fifteen if we push it a little bit." I looked back at Brutus, "Now think about all of the things every single one of those people could've done. The art they could've produced. The families they could've loved. All that is lost because of me. Hector, the Prince of Troy, was chief among the potentials I extinguished. Think about the good he could've done for Troy, or the rest of the world." I squinted my eyes in a subtle hatred, "Do you enjoy that thought, _Brutus?" _

He averted his gaze "No, but not everyone has such a grand capacity for good," He retorted. "When I…" he looked back at me for a second "You probably have no idea what I'm talking about, this was after your time. But, when I conspired to murder Julius Caesar, I didn't enjoy it, he was like a brother to me." He was now staring at me, "But, I went through with it, hoping to save Rome, a republic, from a tyrannical emperor." He looked and pointed at Mehmed "But that man...not only does he insult Caesars legacy, but he admires his megalomania-cal power moves. If any type of killing can be enjoyed, slaying him is to be the chief pleasure."

"Just don't let anger cloud your judgement," I conceded, tired of this discussion.

"I won't. I understand how valuable he is to our cause. We all saw him blow a chunk off of the moon, casually," He explained. He looked at me thoughtfully for a second "Your legend's real, correct?"

"Why are you asking?"

"Augustus said that Hercule never existed. I wanted to know if you _know _you did."

"I existed. That piece of The Gate of Troy proves it."

"Hercules bow would suggests that he existed, as well."

"That's a bow made to represent Hercule. The Gate was real."

"Alright, just making sure." He trailed off, "I guess I'm just scared of the thought that _I _never truly existed."

"From what I've heard of you so far, it seems likely that you did."

"Right." He said. Brutus was silent for a moment before he spoke up again "I wonder how Mehmed got that blasted thing."

"The bow?" I asked

"Yes. How in the hell did he get that? And, how was he summoned with it?" He inquired.

"He must've plundered it from The Temple of Hercules." I explained "And, he might've been summoned with it because he wielded it in life, or it represents his submission of the...Byzantines, as he explained it. Or both" I said.

"Want to know something?" He asked.

"What?"

"The Byzantines were also known as The Eastern Roman Empire, according to Augustus." He pointed at Mehmed once more "In that man, we have a common enemy. Destroyer of Rome, pilferer of Greek artifacts." He explained, "When we win the conflict with that blasted Organization, will you help me kill him?" He whispered.

"I'll think about it." I answered. I really didn't care, though. I could kill both of them if I chose to.

"Good. Great talk." And, giving a pat on the back, Brutus returned to his original group.

El Melloi seemed to notice our conversation, because he broke off from the group like Brutus, taking his place. "What were you two discussing?" He asked.

"He thanked me for mine saving him earlier, and he asked me to ally myself with him," I answered candidly, since I had no reason to lie to him. My fate was tied with his.

"Did you accept?" He inquired.

"I told him that I'd think about it."

"Alright. Whatever you want to do after the war is your business." He walked off.

"Wait…" I beckoned. I wasn't done with him yet.

"Yes, Achilles?" He turned his head, puzzled.

"What was it that caused you to cry when we pacted?"

"I was in another Grail War. It's been almost twenty years since then, though."

"Why did you cry, though?"

"I don't know." He answered coldly, walking away in an attempt to escape.

"I have a feeling you do know." I called out.

He glanced back at me. His eyes conveyed no emotion, only a simple, analytical coldness. He was quite a puzzle of a master. He seemed indifferent to everything I did, as long as it didn't affect the war effort negatively. Did he desire the grail? Did he not have _any _wishes? I had no idea. "Do you have any questions about anything?" He asked, eager to flee from the previous topic.

I looked at him for a second, deciding that it would be best - at least for now - to move on. "How can I so easily communicate with you? In life, I didn't even know English existed. Yet, now, I can speak it instinctively."

"The Grail gives you an instinctual knowledge of the languages and customs of whatever time you're summoned into. It's akin to a muscle memory you forgot you had in feeling," He explained without thinking.

"How does it do that?" I asked

El Melloi shrugged, "It's difficult to explain. " he began to walk off "Well, if you need anything, just call." And then, he was gone, disappearing into the core of the group. His distance, both mentally and physically, felt quite treacherous. He was purposefully avoiding contact with me and I had no idea why.

The Forest thinned, transforming into an assortment of oak staves poking out of the ground, ready to be harnessed. Stumps were embedded into the rim of the forest, a few mages actively collecting and cutting lumber for fires and infrastructure in camp. A few used tools; others used various types of magic - cutting through tree trunks like a pair of scissors through hair.

As we drew closer to the camp, trees were replaced by small tents, each one a different color and holding the beds of two or three mages. There were just as many tents as trees. The landscape scooped downward into a valley: a grand scarlet tent stood erect at the zenith of the other side of the rim of said valley. It bore a sigil resembling a Lion wearing a golden crown.

We entered and quickly garnered the limelight. We were unfamiliar figures, walking around in clothing and armor hundreds (or even thousands) of years out of style, and accompanying the most famous mages in the army. All of this created a triumphantly joyful reaction, although some mages didn't seem to believe our arrival meant anything. Most cheered in deafening cries of returned hope. Others, typically those severely wounded - or nursing said wounded -, simply grimaced. Overall, though, our arrival was celebrated. If I wasn't used to such attention I'd be quite flattered.

Roads formed by the daily traveling of others slithered in and out of the camp like a family of snakes. A few mages traveled them, bringing supplies on wagons in tow with them. Lumber from the forest, food, water, all was being transported. Every once and awhile, we would come across a group of mages carrying items of a magical nature. Crystal's of all varieties, carried by duos - sometimes trios - of mages, were littered around the camp. They looked like great sources of magical energy, probably used to fuel the camps more mystical constructs.

A crude landing strip stretched out on one side of the camp. Large winged metal masses landed by the second bearing an abundance of crates - which I suspected stored supplies. At least a thousand mages manned the strip, using their powers to guide and unload the metallic birds. Those who wielded fire blew signals in the form of candlelight from their hands to guide the landings. Those with a telekinetic nature unloaded the cargo. They signed their hands wildly while they guided the shaking crates.

The further up the other side of the valley we travelled, the nicer the tents became, as well as the dress of the mages manning the tents. Intricately designed outfits conforming to the latest fashions (which were quite strange). Pants were seen as a savage's attire in Greece, and yet these mages wore them triumphantly. I guess it didn't really matter.

We reached the highest point of the valley. The tent we observed in the distance loomed just before us. Just behind it, training dummies and targets sat unused. Velvet flaps twisted and flapped in the wind invitingly. Lorelei passed through them; she invited everyone else in with the beckoning of a hand.

Inside, a war table held a cloth map penetrated by red and black pins. A throne sat at the peak of the table. Otherwise, its sides were unoccupied by chairs. We all stood whereas Lorelei sat down in the throne. Lorelei cleared her throat "Now, I would like to know all of your powers and their extents, please," she said expectantly.

Everyone looked at her as if she was mad. Brutus and Mehmed both interjected, although Brutus let Mehmed take center stage. "If we tell you our powers, then everyone else will know them, too. If they know our powers, then they know our weaknesses. Seeing as a few of us plan on taking the Grail, that is quite problematic," Mehmed explained intelligently.

"Right…" Lorelei said, deep in thought. "...but, you'll need to work together on the battlefield. I also need to know your powers as to give me a good idea as to where I should place you on the battlefield." She explained.

"Or:" Brutus interrupted, "You want to know our weaknesses so you can take the Grail for yourself after the war."

"I have no intention of fighting for The Grail." Lorelei answered, "What do you prefer:" she rhetorically asked "being the first seven servants to die, or being one of the last to die? Even if you don't believe me, ask yourselves that for but a moment."

"At least have the other master and servant pairs leave the room." Mehmed suggested. Brutus nodded in a reluctant confirmation.

Lorelei propped her feet up onto the table, making sure to keep her legs closed to prevent a show from happening. She stared at her feet, moving them in a repetitive pattern conducive of thought. "Alright," She said, "Everyone get out, besides El Melloi and Achilles. I'll summon the rest of you when I have need of you." And, with that, the others left, and the room was left empty besides Lorelei, El Melloi, and I. The breeze picked up as we walked forward, paper flashing by the tent, visible through the moving velvet flaps. Lorelei motioned for our attention, "Achilles, take your helmet off if you may. I'd like to see it," she said.

I complied, removing it with two careful hands and placing it on the table in front of her. My hair, cut short for ease of battle, stayed mostly the same as it had been under the helmet. Lorelei took the helmet into her hand and leaned forward, taking her legs off the table. She turned it around slowly, running her fingers over the designs. "Who forged this?" she inquired.

"Hephaestus," I answered.

A light groan leaked through her politely sealed lips. She returned the helmet back to me. "Did Hephaestus forge _all _of your armor," she asked.

"Yes."

"Does it have any special properties?"

"It has divine protection, but that isn't necessary when…" I looked to El Melloi for confirmation to explain my powers further. He nodded, "you're completely and utterly invincible in every place but the left heel."

"So, if you gave your armor to someone else and they'd have divine protection?" she asked.

"If I was willing to, yes. I am not, however."

"Why are you rider class? You seem more like a lancer to me." she said.

"It's because of my chariot."

"Does that have any special properties?"

"It's slightly faster than me and can mow enemies down in droves. It consumes mana rapidly, though."

"Anything else I should know?"

I lifted up my spear. It extended into an eighteen foot long pike before contracting into the shape of a weapon barely a foot long. "What about your shield?" she asked.

"Same as my armor," I answered.

"That's all I need to know, thank you." She said, pulling a notebook out from under the table and writing in it. "You may go back to your tent, El Melloi," she said, "And, Achilles, you can go wherever, but I advise you follow El Melloi."

"Alright," I said. El Melloi made his way to the exit silently. I followed. His tent wasn't too far, only a few hundred feet down from Lorelei's tent. It was an inconspicuous thing, a deep, easy to wash brown with simple pitching. It was much smaller than Lorelei's. Hers was made to accommodate not only her living, but dozens of visitors at a time. Waver's was smaller, able to house a bed, desk, and an end table comfortably. It looked suspiciously clean, almost like it hadn't been visited in years, although that was contrasted by El Melloi instinctively sitting in his own chair. He pulled a pair of reading glasses and a pile of paperwork out and began to file it. He didn't utter a word. He didn't look at me. He simply ignored my presence and worked.

I sat on his bed, taking off my helmet and placing it on his nightstand. "Lorelei said that the Organization was behind a bounded field, right?" I asked.

"Correct," He said.

"Is that why this forrest seems so tranquil? It's been untouched by war?"

"Yes."

"Does the bounded field bar entry?"

"Why are you asking?"

"I was thinking about seeing the battlefield: set up the stake of this war in my mind. What's already been lost."

"If you do check it out, don't get into any fights unnecessarily."

"Why?"

"I have limited mana reserves. While I'm better than I was…" he trailed off "..._then_ I still won't be able to support your full power for long."

"Why is that?"

"I'm not very...thoroughly bred."

"Why would that matter?"

"Magic circuits are passed down by mage families to their heirs."

"What are magic circuits?"

He turned around and grimaced at me, irritation paving the pathways of his face. He calmed down quickly, though, and turned back to answer my question "Magic circuits are what determine a mage's mana supply."

"So, you aren't thoroughly bred because you don't have that many?"

"To give an idea of how few I have: for every ten Lorelei possesses, I might have one."

"Why's that? You seem quite the esteemed Mage Lord."

He remained silent for a second. His pen shook in his hand and he set it down. He took his face in his hands, "Because I reformed the Archibald House."

"Who are they?" I asked, almost sounding excited. I was breaking down his self imposed barriers faster than I expected.

"A famous mage family."

"Why are they famous?"

"For the number of successful generations they produced and their level of mage craft."

"How did you reform it?"

"Stop!" he yelled, turning in his chair violently. His eyes twitched under his reading glasses. "I have had enough. Go do something else besides…" He paused for a moment, turning around and taking his face in his hands once "...pestering me."

"How am I pestering you? It is important for a Heroic Spirit to have an amicable relationship with their summoner." I said.

"You're asking me questions."

"How is that bad?"

"Because I don't want to hear them."

"Why is that?"

"Because I don't."

He was quite the brick wall. It seemed I had pushed him to his mental limit. I still decided to go further.

"I think it'd be good if you told me why."

"_Why?_"

"Because…" I had never fully realized why his distant demeanor bothered me. I really had no Idea. I got up and made my way to the flaps of his tent. "I don't know," I said, stepping outside the tent. The expanse of the camp, almost melancholic in its warlike appearance, expanded before my eyes to the edge of the forest. I really had no idea where I was going, I just felt a compulsion to leave.

I saw Mehmed talking with a Mage Lord a few tents down. His bow, terrifying, even from this distance, after his demonstration of its power, hung from his shoulder. Deciding that I would get to know him better, I approached the two.

"...How has that affected the Association's Treasury?" Mehmed asked.

"Terribly. We're only a few steps away from debt. One hundred Thousand whiny mages never really came cheap."

"I would Imagine. In my time, many of my soldiers were Christian men I had indentured to me from birth. I was always thankful that I didn't have to pay them quite as much. It saved the Empire's Treasury a fortune, seeing as they were basically my best soldiers. Even then, I could barely afford an army fifty thousand strong without…" Mehmed stopped mid sentence when he noticed my approach "Ah, Achilles, come. Have you met this man?"

"I'm afraid not."

"This is Henry Dioland, and he's a General of this army. He manages a unit specializing in summoning and puppet making."

"Charmed to meet you, and you are?" Henry asked.

"Achilles," I answered plainly.

He looked stunned for a moment but quickly recovered "Ah, I shouldn't be surprised. Lorelei did brag about the caliber of servants she'd summo,"" he said.

"She wasn't the only one who summoned a servant, though," I mentioned.

"Of course. I'm just saying that she hand picked every single artifact for every single master so it is, in a way, her summon."

"She did?" I asked.

"Of course. She wanted to make sure everyone could get a compatible, and competent, servant."

Mehmed glanced at me for a second, "I'm sorry Mr. Dioland, but I humbly request both of our leave. I have something to discuss with Achilles," he grinned.

"Of course. I have some work to do, anyway."

"Great. _Allahu Akbar_" Mehmed said, clutching my arm with the strength of a titan and stampeding down the valley. We eventually reached a more secluded spot of the camp. Then, he let go of my arm. "Quite a nice man, wasn't he? He would've been a fine addition to my army…," he looked up the hill we descended with a thousand yard stare, "But, no matter. I have a question for you, Achilles."

"Go on."

"Are you truly _the_ Achilles from myth?"

"Yes."

"Truly? What I mean is you _physically _lived through the Trojan War? You aren't fake?" he asked.

"The piece of The Gate of Troy proves it. Are you truly Mehmed the Conqueror?"

"By flesh and soul. Anyway, it's good to know. Augustus and El-Melloi were talking about various myths and their...historical validity. They said yours truly happened, but I just wanted to be sure. I also have a proposition for you."

"What is it?"

"You're quite the soldier, Achilles. Your exploits are legendary. But, your fame is your undoing. Anyone familiar with your tale, which, I assure you, most of the other spirits will be, knows that your weakness is your heel."

"How do you know that? Not every myth perfectly encapsulates the person's power," I reasoned.

"Because I can _see _it. Your heel is different, spiritually and physically. Energy radiates off of you in an intensity I thought could only be exuded by Allah himself. From everywhere, except your heel."

"Which heel is it, then?" I asked, making sure he wasn't playing any mind games.

"Your left heel," he answered without hesitation, and he was right. A wound in my left heel was my undoing in life, and Mehmed had the knowledge required to end my current life in the same way.

"What is your proposition, then?" I asked, curious more than ever. If I were to ally with anyone, he would be the most likely candidate.

"Join my army, and become my retainer. If you do, I will be honor bound to give you all the loot you obtain in battle, and to pay you a fair wage. If you pact with me, you will share in the glory of the Devshirme, and forever join with me in my mission on this Earth," he said with a fiery conviction. Passion poured out from every crevice in his body: excitement inhabited his spirit.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because, if you don't, I will kill you. But, unlike Paris, I will not need Phoebus to guide my catastrophe of an arrow. My shots strike true, even without the help of the gods."

"What is your mission, then?"

Mehmed smiled a wicked, pearly white smirk. "To surpass Allah himself."

"Who is Allah?"

"God, The Creator. But, he isn't omniscient. If he was, he'd answer my challenge. In truth, he is afraid. He hides himself away from me. He cowers in the unreachable aegis of heaven. When I use The Grail to reach him, however, he will truly meet his match, and Heaven shall be reordered to my liking. If you join with me, you will be my right hand man, the angel of my will." As he spoke, the landscape around became half transparent, partially taking the image of a great siege. Men killed and died in the infinite symphony of war around us, "Just as I took Constantinople, that great city of God, I will plunder heaven."

"Anyone foolish enough to challenge the gods is not worthy to pact with."

"Ah. You don't trust Greeks bearing gifts, do you?" he snarled.

"What?"

"Oh, wait, you were _dead_ by that part of the story. How _foolish _of me," he chuckled, materializing an arrow in his hand, twirling it around joyously "Let us hope you survive this one, huh? It'd be a shame if a stray arrow struck you," He riddled, walking past me and back up the hill, "My offer still stands." he patted me on the back casually.

"Wait. What do you mean? What happened to the Greek army?"

"They sacked Troy. They used a wooden horse to sneak into the city." he answered as he was walking past the nearest tent, "But, I assure you, I have no hidden surprises in my offer. What you see is what you get. Such is the **blood price**. _As-Salamu Alaykum."_

And then, he was gone, disappeared through a crowd of mages. I stood in place for a second, attempting to register his offer and its consequences. _Did I really want to join forces with a man like him?_ He truly had no boundaries. No higher ideal. He was his own ideal. Even his own god wasn't sacred to him. No, it wasn't an option. He didn't have any respect. He didn't think about the well being of those around him, only how they could serve him. Anger welled up inside my stomach like lava ready to leak from a volcano. He would never have me.

I jogged back up the hill, passing Henry's tent and making my way up the horizon. At the end of my journey, I reached El Melloi's plain brown tent. I forced the flaps open, peering inside. He still sat at his desk, but he wasn't working. No, he was holding his face in his hands. The painful sickness of sadness visibly infested his mind. If I was to win this war, I needed to cure it. "El Melloi." I called. His eyes met mine. He remained silent, attempting to hide himself with his hands. "I'm going into the bounded field. You're coming with me."

"What?" he questioned, exasperated. He returned to his calm withdrawn demeanor. His hands lowered to the desk.

"You're coming with me. Come on." I beckoned him towards me with my hand.

He looked down at the desk thoughtfully for a second. He then looked back at me like a child looks at an impending predator. His facial expression mellowed, seemingly breaking his barriers, at least for now. "Alright. Just let me...grab my things."

"That's alright. It'll be quick. We'll travel by Chariot. Come on." El Melloi stood up, following me outside the tent. I whistled through my fingers, calling forth my trusty chariot. It sped onto the road from the heavens, horses squealing. I stepped on in a practiced motion, offering El Melloi up with a hand. However, he got on the chariot without my help, in a similar, although stiffer, less practiced motion.

"Have you ridden a chariot before, then?" I asked.

El Melloi looked towards the horizon, grabbing the front of the chariot with his hands "I guess you could say that." I took that as my signal to take off. I took the reins in my hands, whipping the horses in a single, concise motion. And, with that, The Chariot launched itself into the air, propelling itself into the bounded field.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Kairi

Shining steel fell forward in the air, whirling and whispering. It collided with its wooden target, a sharp '_thunk'_ signalling the blade sinking past the surface a few centimeters deep. It was a simple target, some oak planks glued together with a red dot painted in the center. It was the best I could do, truthfully. The one thing I could give these Association Mages credit for was the fact that they ran a tight ship. I nabbed the paint from a farm in the bounded field and made the target myself, and I nailed it to a tree next to my tent.

Mordred and me had just returned from Lorelei's tent, where Mordred shared her powers with The Vice Director. It was mostly uneventful, detailing what amounted to "I can kill a bunch of people with my sword at one time If I want," which was a predictable Noble Phantasm (Stems from their legend-a power as a result of their fame.) When we returned, I started, as I often do, knife throwing.

I created the target for recreational purposes. Hours of free time before and after training was consumed by this target - every day. Not because I was a professional knife thrower or something: It was just something to do. I walked up to the target, shimmying the blade out of the worn wood. Up, down, up, down, out. I turned around and my knightly companion stood guard. He looked more like an armored statue than a true knight. His sword, large enough to where a normal man would have trouble wielding it even with two hands, plunged into the ground. He held its grip in a casually chivalrous gesture, looking quite noble. His armor, crimson highlights and all, shone in the son. I couldn't imagine that it was very comfortable in there. I imagined the heat inside that armor, and every possibility pointed to Mordred being roasted alive.

"You know, you don't need to wear your armor here in camp. We're all friends here. At least, for now," I said, aiming for my next throw.

"I would still like to have it on," He replied.

"Why?" I asked, tossing the knife.

"Because I want to," He explained. The knife hit on the left side of the red dot. I lumbered over to recover the blade.

"Can't imagine why. Even I'm having trouble with this heat." I wiped my brow. Half to make a point, and half because I actually needed to.

"I'm used to it." He looked at the target almost longingly.

I removed the weapon from its target, flipping it in my hand. "Well, to each their own I guess…" He stared at the dagger in my hand "do you want to try this?"

"Sure." He dug his blade deeper into the ground so as to make it stand on its own. He took the blade from my hand. I moved out of the way, getting ready to instruct him. When he started aiming, however, his form was seemed quite practiced. He lobbed the blade. It spun through the air with blinding speed, embedding the entire thing through the perfect center of the target.

My mouth couldn't help but come agape. I doubted my ability to remove the weapon. It looked as if it was multiple inches into the tree the target hung from. Mordred didn't hesitate, though. He strolled over to the target and extracted the dagger with a brawny ease. The tree itself shook, leaves waving in the windless sky. "I thought Saber class servants were just good at using swords?" I mentioned.

"I have more skills than just simple swordplay. I used plenty of throwing weapons in my time." His echoey voice sounded from his helmet. He strutted back to the typical distance I threw from. Cracks infested the target, and they all originated from the scar created by Mordred's shot.

"I can't imagine why," I said.

"Competitions, and it was a way to relax while still remaining active," He explained. The dagger once again sped through the air, embedding itself in the same exact spot. Although, it was much deeper this time. The hilt itself was almost a quarter into the target. Mordred once again easily removed it.

"With these skills, you probably got first in _any _competition you participated in," I suggested.

"No, not always," he sighed, "I'm much better now than I was in life. My fame seems to have enhanced my abilities. Truthfully, I'm probably about as good as you."

"Well, maybe if I become a heroic spirit, I could do something like that." I pointed at the splinters I'm forced by tradition to call a target.

"No. It's not worth it," he mumbled, "...Sorry that I'm destroying your target. I'll stop now." he motioned for me to take the knife from his hands.

"I can make another," I admitted, waving his hand away.

"Alright," he said. He aimed a second longer than usual, this time putting all of his weight into the through. The throwing dagger flew through the air like a bullet, plunging deep into the target, then the tree, and out the other end in a breathtaking show of power. It kept on flying even after, and made its way into the forest. "I'll go grab it." he said while jogging in the weapons general direction.

"...Hey, Kairi," A silky smooth voice yelled behind me, "How are you?"

I turned around to see Bram and his servant Semiramis. Strange, Bram had never come to see me before. His companions eyes scanned me analytically. She smiled, staring at my scars with an acute satisfaction. "What are you doing here?" I asked, folding my arms defensively.

"I wanted to see how your servant was. A few...modifications were made to the summoning circle to accommodate multiple summonings, so I just wanted to make sure no unwanted side effects had manifested."

"Mordred seems quite fine, thank you," I said with hostility. Speaking of, the treacherous knight tread out of the forest towards us. His line of sight lingered in Semiramis' direction for a few seconds before reverting back to me when he reached our group.

"Here you go," He said, giving me the now scratched, beaten up knife. I inspected it, and it seemed fit for further service.

"Aw, knife throwing?" Bram asked.

"Yes. Feel free to give it a try. Maybe you'll get lucky and hit the tree," I teased, turning and throwing the knife. It hit on the top of the red dot.

"I'll take that as my signal to leave," he groaned.

"It was a pleasure to see you again, Kairi," Semiramis said in a polite tone. They both walked up the hill, probably on their way to Lorelei's tent. Mordred, again, seemed to be eyeing Semiramis up.

"Enjoying the view?" I suggested, elbowing him playfully. His metal shell stung my arm on impact.

"No. She just reminds me of someone," he said. His head turned towards my direction. I was close enough to where I could see through the slits in his armor. His eyes were an emerald green, similar to Shakespeare's funnily enough.

"Oh? Who? A past lover or something?"

"No. My mother."

"How's that?"

"Their general demeanor. They both…" He looked back at Semiramis - who was now strolling up the hill -, "They both had that same look in their eyes."

"And what type of look is that?" I inquired.

"Polite evil," He conceded.

"Evil?"

"Yes."

"How's that?"

"When she was summoned, she observed everyone like a predator. It gave me the creeps."

"I never had that impression."

"Well, I did."

I hiked over to the knife and dislodged it from the target "Well, any woman who becomes an empress is probably fake, anyway."

"Fake?"

"As in, they have ulterior motives. Or, they just aren't very humble people. That's probably why Bram was compatible enough to summon her," I commented.

"It's more than that."

"Oh?"

"She has a look which screams 'I'm going to manipulate you, and I know you won't be able to do anything about it,'"

"That's politicians - and mages - in general. Seeing as she was summoned as a caster, she probably has the political acuity of both identities combined."

"I guess," Mordred ceded. I handed the knife to him. He threw much more lightly this time, hitting the target with only slightly more force than I could. "What type of person was your mother?" he asked while fetching the throwing knife.

The question kicked me in the gut. In that place where memories go to die. I couldn't quite answer Mordred, but I knew I fully could. "Uh…" I trailed off, "I can't really remember," I lied. Anger stirred in the aftermath of the blow, although I wasn't sure of its origin.

"Were you an orphan or something?"

"No," I admitted.

"Just having trouble recalling her? I had a few brothers in arms who hadn't seen their mothers in so long that they forgot what they looked like. Is it like that?"

"No. I guess if I were to describe her…" The words floated on the tip of my tongue tiringly, "She was somewhat similar Lorelei." I managed to utter meekly. I myself was unsure of my explanation's meaning.

"Oh? Were you in a mage family before you became a mercenary?"

"Yeah," I said. It had been years since I had to recall that fact but, yes, I was.

"Hm," Mordred sounded in recognition.

"What was your family like? Some of the legends say that King Arthur was your father, but others are non-specific," I questioned.

"He was my father, yes."

"So you were his heir?"

"Unfortunately not."

"Why's that? Were you a bastard?"

"Something like that." Mordred answered candidly. He handed the dagger back to me. I threw it, striking in the lower half of the dot because I adjusted my aim too much.

"Is that why you killed him?"

"Who?"

"King Arthur."

Mordred stayed silent for a moment, "Not really...well, I guess you could say that is one way to interpret the reason…" he trailed off, "...but I didn't do it for selfish reasons."

"If what the legends say was true, Arthur was a perfect king."

"_Too _perfect more like."

"How so?"

"He was the perfect adjudicator. The perfect politician. The perfect strategist. But, in all that perfection, he failed to lead his own people. We were left in despair to wallow in his shadow. Lancelot, my teacher, went mad because of him. I grew tired of the endless cycle of hopelessness Arthur's rule created, so I took over."

"But Camelot was destroyed because of it."

"I never said that my plan worked out. In the end, I only made things worse. Perhaps if I had been the one to draw Caliburn from the stone thing could've been different."

"Perhaps if you hadn't attempted your coup Camelot wouldn't have been destroyed," I commented.

Mordred turned slowly turned his head towards me, "What?" he asked in a fiery tone.

"If you hadn't risen up, Camelot wouldn't have been destroyed."

"I…" Mordred kicked at the dirt beneath his feet, putting his hands behind his back and sighing, "Perhaps. It's too complicated a situation to generalize like that. My meddling didn't make anything better, though…" He looked back at me, "...I only ask that you understand my reasons."

"Say, Mordred."

"Hm?"

"What's your wish? If you win The Grail, I mean."

"To have managed to usurp the throne peacefully. Most likely, the only way to do that would be pulling The Sword from The Stone."

"You were born after it was drawn, weren't you?"

"Which is why I need a wish granting device." I handed the throwing knife to Mordred, "What's your wish, Kairi?"

The question entered the wound torn by the first. I had no idea. The first thing I thought of when accepting my role as master was how exciting it would be. I never thought about the possible things I could achieve with The Grail. Infinite Wealth? Power? Happiness? None seemed very appealing. The only attractive part of The Grail War to me was the thrill of it. "I guess I don't have one."

"Everyone has a wish."

"Well, I don't."

"I'm sure you do. Just dig a little. What about your family? I've seen how you treat Lorelei, so, no doubt, there's a very good story there." Mordred threw the knife and met its mark, hitting the bullseye, "...especially since you're a freelancer and not 'Lord Kairi Shishigou III,'" he added mockingly.

"Well, that's not something I want to dwell on." The wound ripped further, fear and rage mixing together in a potion of emotion.

"I never wanted to dwell on my treachery, but I had to because it was important," He added, "I'm sure there's something you want."

"Well, there isn't," I said. A cowardly mental block prevented passage into the darker parts of my brain. For a good reason. There wasn't any point in dwelling on the past, especially if it was this painful.

"Why are you in this Grail War, then?"

"I don't know. It just sounded exciting."

"That's not very responsible."

"How?"

"War isn't something to be enjoyed. There's too much suffering."

"There's suffering everywhere. But, something that war has that everything else lacks is excitement. The thrill of chasing and being chased."

"That's hell."

"An amazing hell."

"I don't understand how you could enjoy that."

"Because I do."

Mordred started at me before retrieving the blade and giving it to me. "What are you addicted to excitement or something?"

"Basically. Moneys nice, but the main thing that motivates my decision as to whether or not I take a contract is how exciting it sounds."

"Well, I can understand that much. You don't want to be standing around doing nothing, even for a million…" Mordred paused for a second, and took the chin of his helmet in his hand, "What's the currency the Association uses?"

"English Pounds because The Association's main headquarters is in Big Ben."

"What's that?"

"A Clocktower in London."

"What's a clock?"

"Something that tells the time."

"Why not just look at the sun?"

"Because it's easier."

"But you can tell the time using the sun anywhere, as long as you can see it. If a clock can serve as the main base of an Association this big then they can't be very convenient to build."

"That clock's famous because it is big. Some can fit on your wrist."

"Oh. Are they an invention by mages or by regular people?"

"Regular people. Some clocks are magical, though."

"Damn. I've been dead too long. What else can you do these days, Forge a sword in two minutes? Cook a meal in less?"

"You can do both of those things."

"Okay, I meant that as a joke. Now you're just messing with me," Mordred chuckled.

"No, I'm not. You can plasma cut a piece of metal and use it as a sword. All you might have to do is sharpen it a little. And, because of advances in food preservation, instant meals are a thing."

"Okay. Let me guess, you can just plasma-whatever wheat and it'll be ready for harvest in a day?"

"No. I don't think science has made it that far yet. Magecraft can't do that either."

"I thought magic could do everything?"

"No. There's a difference between magecraft and magic. Magic comes directly from The Swirl of The Root, the center of all phenomena. It's what is not possible with modern science. I doubt anyone can do it now. Magecraft is what's possible with modern science, although ease of use is a factor."

"I have no idea what the hell you just said, but I'll assume it was intelligent."

"Not really. I used to be a theory buff, but it's progressed leaps and bounds passed what I studied."

"You mean when you were in a mage family?"

The question blindsided me. This always seemed to come up with him, didn't it? "Yes," I answered.

"What type of mage are you, by the way? I know there's different types."

"I'm a necromancer. I can raise the dead and use their body parts for various uses. I mostly just use fingers and toes to create bullets. When I kill a mage, too, I take their heart and make it into a grenade. That's about it, though."

"Can you raise corpses?"

"Yes. I do often, but I prefer just using my own two hands to kill things instead of having to control fifty-something zombies. I feel like I can get more done."

"I remember when I fought necromancers and zombies on the field. I'll tell you, it's not fun."

"I hope not," I answered. Magic was used somewhat in warfare in the past, but it was rare and never was documented in military manuscripts. So, most of this war was just assuming the best tactics based on what's already known. The Organization has definitely been beating us in the strategy department because of that. Their Marshall, Giovanni, was a tactical genius, no doubt.

"When do you think we're heading into the bounded field? I want to get this war over with already. It seems like a grim affair." Mordred said.

"Probably in a few days. We're still licking our wounds after the last battle, but Lorelei seems pretty confident. I think we'll probably be going on the offensive this time, since it's not what The Organization expects. From what our scouts say, their just reordering their troops to better cover their new land. They won't be able to plan an attack for a while."

"Alright. Truthfully, seeing the caliber of servants we have, I don't see them having a chance. I mean, Achilles and a man who can blow chunks off of the moon casually? How could they stand a chance?"

"They've snaked their way into a win in unfavorable circumstances before. Let's not get ahead of ourselves here."

"But let's not also underestimate ourselves."

"Sure." I shrugged. I wasn't in the mood for debating military philosophy. That was the History and - newly formed - military department's job.

"All I know is that even if we win the first war, the second will be a difficult process and bloody process." Mordred added.

"So, you will fight for the Grail after the war?" I asked. We had talked about our wishes, but not whether or not we'd fight for them.

"Of course. The only reward worth working with people like Lorelei is my greatest wish. You?"

"Sounds exciting."

"Why did I expect anything different?" Mordred sighed.

Mordred was quite different from what I expected. While he was knightly in many ways, he wasn't stuck up. I could lay low and have fun with him outside of battle, although how he responds to my tactics in battle remains to be seen.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5.5**

Giovanni

Hard strikes bounced off of the pads on my hands, chest, and legs. Anything from a punch, elbow, backfist or a kick. Sweat poured down Zepter's brow, her hair, cut down to shoulder length to prevent opponents from latching onto it, was tied into a small bun on the back of her head. Her lack of bangs revealed a previously obscured patch of stitching on the far right curve of her hair line.

"1, 2, 5, 9," I commanded.

Zepter followed up with the specified strikes, releasing a short breath with every hit. There was a certain desperation in her strikes. It was typical of her to be like this so far into a workout. We had been training for six hours straight now. When I said to Darnic that I would have to kill her, _I meant it_. Elite mages were priceless in this war. Some elites, like Darnic, Lady Barthomeloi, and me were just as powerful if not stronger than most servants. If any of us were to be perfectly matched with a servant, we'd be unstoppable. If we were to optimize our Grail War effort, It would be by making sure every servant had a worthy master.

That wasn't the only reason, though. Simply put, the offensive possibilities with Zepter's abilities were insane. If she got a hold of an enemy, it was game over. If I harnessed that potential correctly, her and me would make an invulnerable team in the field. I said _me_ specifically because I think-when she trained-that our skills would meld perfectly together. If I got close to someone, instead of finishing them myself, I fling them Zepter's way. Seeing as I'm just about the fastest man in the Organization, getting to the enemy wouldn't be an issue.

Despite my zealous attitude towards training, breaks weren't out of the question. Sacrificing ten minutes for another good hour is worthwhile. Sebrina was visibly fatigued, and her fists slugged around the pads at the speed of a friendly handshake. "Alright Zepter, that's enough for now. Go get some water."

She nodded , leaned over-pulled her gloves off-and grabbed her knees with her wrapped hands. Her breaths were still sharp, but they were deeper and more controlled. She looked like an addict during their first hit of the week. We were working in my personal training room. In it, there was a water fountain with a specific dispenser portion for water bottles [Unlike the Association, the Organization wasn't afraid of using technology]. I grabbed a bottle, placed it in the designated spot, filled it, and went back to hand it to Zepter.

"Here."

Zepter looked up at me. She made eye contact, but her eyes switched their path to my feet. She remained in that position for a few moments, zoning out. I wiggled the bottle in the air softly, water sloshing around. She regained her focus and grabbed the water source. "...Thank you." She gulped down the water, but she was still breathing hard, so she quickly stopped sipping and began to cough. I chuckled.

She was in surprisingly decent shape when we started, able to pull her own weight for the first hour. But, she almost seemed to be in a fatigued stupor beyond that. I was working her constantly for hours on end, afterall. She even threw up a few times. It had been a few weeks since we started, though, and she had much better cardio. She wasn't quite where I wanted her to be, but she was close enough.

"Giovanni," she called in a weak voice.

"Yes?"

"Is this how you... train?"

"Not quite this hard, no."

"This is hell."

"I'm well aware of that."

"I'm... going to die."

"No, you're not. Besides, I've given you some rest days. You're improving nicely."

"That's not what I'm talking about…"

"What are you referring to, then?"

"The war. No matter how... I conceptualize it, I know I'm going to die."

"Don't think like that."

"It's... true, though."

"I'll do everything in my power to stop that from happening."

"It won't change the fact that I'm a fish out of water. You can't babysit me 24/7 in the field."

"I won't, true, but that's why I'm training you. You'll be capable of handling low level enemies on your own, at least. Just don't try to face any servants."

"...Alright." Zepter's gaze wandered around the room. Her eyes were squinted sorrowfully. "Do you think you're going to die, Giovanni?" she asked.

I truly hadn't thought about it.

"I might, possibly. We'll see what happens. If I need to sacrifice myself for the Organization, then I will," I stated.

She shed her shy demeanor, observing me fully and lingering on my eyes for a moment. She nodded and looked to her right. "I believe you," she said, "Say, how'd you end up joining? I don't think we've ever talked about it."

"My family met the Yggdmillennia during our travels in Romania. We were travelling martial artists, sharing our physical and magical skills with all those willing and worthy to utilize them. Darnic's family was one of our best connections. They improved our magecraft quite a bit, too."

"When was this?"

"In the summer of 1989. This was before your time. I believe I was...ten years old."

"The Organization wasn't formed then. Besides, you were too young. How'd you end up joining? Why aren't you still travelling?" Zepter masterfully assessed and questioned.

"A problem with my family's strategy was the fact we were constantly hunted by freelancers and enforcers. We were exposing people unaffiliated with the Association to magic. Some of our more mystical techniques were even taught in public martial arts schools. This probably means very little to you, but the secret to basically every gold medal in wrestling is our techniques. As well as, but not limited to, UFC, boxing, karate, kung fu, Brazillian Jiu Jitsu, and Judo championships."

"Was your family killed?"

"No, they just...stopped travelling. They settled down in the mountains.."

"Are they still being hunted?"

"Yes, but no one can find them. Plus, they rarely take students outside the bloodline any more."

"How do they find...spouses if they're so isolated?"

"I think they stop by villages every once in a while."

"Oh..." Sebrina scratched the back of her head. Her eyes flicked to the upper left before descending. They drifted to mine, sustaining eye contact. She took a sip of water, placing the bottle on the ground when she was done. "You still haven't explained why you joined."

"I left the mountain and travelled a bit. I taught around the world in a similar fashion to my family."

"Why'd you stop?"

"You're just...surgical with these questions, aren't you? Do you do this to all of your coworkers?"

"No. You're really...the first person I've ever talked to like this," She stated coldly, and looked at the ground.

"Oh…" her answer sucker punched me in the gut. Just how lonely was this woman? "Zepter, how'd you join?" I asked.

"Answer... my question first," She diverted.

"Fine. I...realized the internal flaws with keeping magic secret. Through my brief exposure to the Association, I realized their hiding of magic was motivated purely by self interest. There's some brutal practices in mage society."

"Tell me about it…" Zepter commented knowingly.

"Yeah...anyway, I found Darnic during a nostalgic trip to Trifas. We talked for hours on end. All of my frustrations with the world, and his, poured out in that conversation. After that, we planned the Organization. It's been around fourteen years since then."

"Oh..." Zepter opened her mouth, but paused, pursing her lips. She did it two more times before forcing her way through "Giovanni…?"

"Yes?"

"Do you k-know where your f-family is?"

"They travel.."

An awkward silence enveloped the room. I decided to quell it by turning the question back on Zepter. "How'd you join?"

"Darnic...found me."

"Found you?"

"Yes. In the forest."

"He never told me about that. He said you approached him."

"No. He found me during a hiking trip."

"...Oh." I remembered that trip. It was after a particularly long bout of sleepless, work heavy nights. He said he needed a break. He rarely took any, so it stuck out in my mind, "Why were you in the woods?" I asked.

"I was created there."

"By whom?" There wasn't any mages I was aware of that could create someone like Zepter. Too much intelligence and self-consciousness.

"Heinrich Zepter. You...probably never heard of him. The...Zepter line...died...with...him."

"Are you his kid?"

"...No."

"He created you? Like you do the carnations?"

She nodded weakly. "Not as...lovingly. I...rem...remember his screams of... as he stitched me...t-together. The look in his eyes as he...realized I was basically a child. I think...his family's goal was to...m-master resurrection. He...stitched me together from…"

"From what?"

"The parts of women he...violated."

"And he wanted you to...have all of their memories?"

"I...think so. I believe he saw it as his last chance to...capture his family's dream. But...he didn't resurrect me... he created me." She gripped her knees tightly with her fingers.

"He seems quite...loose in the head."

"Truly."

"So...you escaped?"

"He threw me away."

"And Darnic found you?"

"...Yes."

"How were you able to recreate Heinrich's magic?"

"I...saw him use it once or twice. I also...observed half of the process of my creation."

"That must've been painful."

"...yeah." She trailed off, twirling a hair that went loose during one of her last combinations.

"Do you... enjoy working with corpses, Zepter?"

Her head snapped back around. Blood rushed to her cheek. "No!" she clutched her knees with her hands, taking the fabric of her pants into her hand roughly, "It's...a necessary evil. I...almost threw up my first few times. It…" She rubbed her thumb on the inside of her elbow, "It...still freaks me out a little."

"That's what she said."

Zepter raised her eyebrows, turning her head obliviously. "Well...yeah. I said it, didn't I?"

"Nevermind," Zepter really _was_ isolated from the world. "You just don't like gore, do you?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"I'd prefer if I never had to touch another heart or cut open another arm ever again. I try to think about...other things when I'm doing it."

"Is it the color or texture that freaks you out?"

Her eyes flicked back and forth a few times. She bit her lip in a gesture of mental strain, "No...it's….the fragility inherent to it all. One slip, and my subject is dead. That's why, when I was...first working to recreate...Heinrich's magic...I used corpses as specimens."

"Fresh ones?"

She scrunched her eyebrows, "Mostly…" she shuffled around in place, "I was just trying to be useful. I...didn't always get the resources I wanted. It wasn't until...I started to get results that I...informed Darnic."

"And that's when you began to work with revival, right?"

"A little before that. I was able to induce twitching in dead bodies. I thought it would be…Useful to your purposes...if I pursued that route further."

"There's really a lot of organizational fog around you and your art."

"Really?"

"Yeah. There's...numerous rumors about you. It doesn't help that you alway kept to yourself. I only ever really met you when you began to attend the leadership meetings, for instance."

"Oh. What are the...rumors?" she leaned in.

"That you're some unhinged psycho who gets off from the zombies you create."

"**They're not zombies**...They're too smart for that," she rubbed her arm.

"That's the only problem that you have with what I said?"

Her eyes lit up a little, "I...don't really think about what other people think of me."

I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms, "You can find some useful information in other people's opinions, though. It's one of the ways my family thrived. They constantly asked other people's opinions."

"...True," she mumbled. She squinted her eyes, deep in thought.

"Well…" I strolled up to Zepter, placing my hand on her shoulder. She jumped back, her eyes wide with shock. We were both silent for a few moments, but I attempted to recover, grabbing my pads from the ground. "Let's get back to work for an hour or so, then you can have the rest of the night off."

Sebrina's shoulders sank, and she covered her face with her hand. "...Alright."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Achilles

Wind rushed through my helmet as I rode, chilling me with frozen air from this great height. The chariot was at least twenty thousand feet in the air, and It made it quite hard to breath, although El-Melloi was having much more difficulty than me. He huffed loudly, creating a beat of inhales and exhales to rival battle drums.

"We're nearly there, Waver," I mentioned.

He looked at me with a surprised, territorial expression, "El-Melloi, please," he groaned in an exhausted negotiation.

"That's much too stiff a name for a comrade in arms," I rebutted, breathing in controlled notes.

"Fine…" Waver conceded. He seemed too tired for arguing.

"I _am_ going in the right direction, right?"

"I think so. The tree line halts just ahead. We had to clear out an abundance of trees to...perform the incantations. There wasn't enough room, plus...we didn't want holes in our bounded field. We should b...be entering the bounded field in just a second."

Reality seemed to warp the closer we got to the field, light ebbing and shaping itself into monstrous shapes before conforming into a terrifying sight. Hills rolled over the area. Dark soil covered the landscape of the field. Storms freely kicked up dust and soot, and ruined buildings culminated into a devastated country town in the center, shattered bricks visible even from this distance. The only green in sight was at least half a dozen miles away, just outside a giant forest, partially masking a grand castle. Trees reached the rim of the field on the right, but not the other side. A city sprawled out on the ground behind the castle, vibrant colors contrasting the brown and grey of the scorched Earth, "What happened?" I inquired. This was quite possibly the worst battlefield I had ever seen.

Waver seemed almost as shocked as me, but he quickly regained his typical intelligent composure, "Before we abandoned our last camp, we burned as much of the... land we could before we moved. That way, when the Organization tore… down our last Bounded Field, all they would have is dirt. It would make out job easier when we attacked. Previously…, they used tree cover and the hills to mask their troops. Now, all they have is empty, flat land. Though, we didn't have enough time to destroy the town, so we just... blew it up as best we could." Waver explained.

"What happened to the residents?"

"They were...relocated. Where, I have... no idea. I was just told that... we wiped their...memory."

"As long as the people are safe." I sighed. I stared at the castle, awestrucked. It was magnificent; impossibly large. The grey stone seemed fresh and pristine, as though it had just been freshly carved. Vines hung on the edge of battlements in purposeful decoration - based on how well groomed they seemed. The highest tower scratched the sky line, its tip partially disappearing into the clouds. It was at least one thousand feet higher than anything else in the field, "Is that the Organization headquarters?"

Waver nodded. "The city of Trifas rests on...the other side of it. The castle holds around 30,000 whereas the city houses just under 100,000 people. This is currently the only place on the planet where magic is openly shared." Waver expounded.

"How do they feed themselves? Didn't Lorelei say they've been under siege for an entire year?"

"We're not sure ourselves. We think they just... stockpiled canned food for a few years. All we know is that it's impossible that they've… sustained themselves off of the small farm land and cattle herds...they have."

"What's canned food?"

"Imagine you could put soup in a jar and preserve it... for eternity. That's what they probably have. Most of their troop rations are metal cans of soup, from what we've been able to capture."

"Ah," I sounded in understanding. The chariot sped towards the castle, a gale howling.

Waver glanced back and forth erratically, "Why are we heading towards the castle?" He yelled, panicking.

"Because I want to see what I'm going to be fighting. I don't sense any servants, so we're safe."

"Yes, but they have mages on par with servants here! If we run into one-"

"Shut up with your cowardly nonsense. More information can never be dangerous. Besides, I'm fast enough to escape if things get too dangerous."

"...alright," El-Melloi surrendered. The Castle drew closer in the distance. Its magnificent size presented itself more clearly every meter the chariot traveled. A large stained glass window, also, appeared to be broken. Men in hard hats and black and white uniforms were knocking the shattered remnants out, presumably to replace them. A large stone table stood in the middle, although I hardly had any time to investigate further. Men in similar uniforms explored the battlements alongside other people in entirely white uniforms, their fancy tunics much better made than those of their peers. They directed their cohorts aggressively, and, upon my passing, they stumbled and peered towards the sky. They all noticed my chariot and shouted.. Various towers led into the depths of the castle. Beaten up velvet carpets ran along all of the pathways, being kicked up in the wind. Blue tiles clung to the roofs of the towers and the castle itself. Upon passing inspection, a few appeared to be floors seemed to be some sort of mix between tiles and stone which fascinated me. Wagons towed by guards ran along the pathways inside the castle courtyard, as well as dirt roads outside of it.

Between the castle and its brother city stood a treacherous forest. In Between gaps in the trees I could catch glimpses of units of troops marching, probably exercising. Just outside the castle, a camp of them stretched out into the wilderness. None carried weapons nor wore armor that I could see. Their only accessories were black and white uniforms.

I passed the castle by a few hundred feet and u-turned, snapping the reigns to get my horses to go down, and the chariot bobbed up and down. Waver's feet lifted into the air, but he held onto the chariot by his fingertips. When his feet landed, so did the chariot, and he bounced up again. He smacked his head on the rail before the chariot ground to a halt. My head tilted to make sure he was okay, and he was slowly raising himself from the floor.

All around, guards surrounded the chariot and raised their fists. They shouted out in cold, creepily monotone voices "Intruder! Intruder! Form up!" My legs squatted down, and launched me into the air. My fingers rushed to my mouth, and I whistled. My chariot then disappeared into the air, Waver dropping out from behind it onto his back.

Poising my spear to attack, I propelled myself towards the nearest enemy. He jumped back, not before my spear broke the skin. Skidding backwards, he reoriented himself as his allies attempted to surround me. One jumped up from my side and kicked the air, missing my head by just an inch as I ducked. Another weaved under a wide motion of my spear, shifting his weight into a punch that I counter with my own. My fist met his liver, and he collapsed.

These soldiers were fast, for sure. I wouldn't be able to defeat them efficiently while still attempting to conserve energy. Heaves and huffs behind me signaled that Waver had crawled to safety under me.

"Sorry Master," I said, "we might end up expending some energy. It should be worth it, though."

"Whatever you're doing…" He gasped, "I recommend calling back your chariot so we can retreat."

"Sorry, can't do that,"

"It was worth a try,"

One of the enemy seemed to grow tired of our dialogue, lunging with his dagger towards a gap in my armor. Channeling my true power, I swung the shaft of my spear into his face. He flew and collided with a group of his peers, knocking them over. The unit around me seemed more cautious after that display, realizing that they were engaging someone out of their league.

Hand signals were briefly exchanged before they all descended upon me at once. Every space around me suddenly became occupied, and blades slid through the air in every direction, trying to catch me off guard. I dodged backwards, elongating my spear and putting all of my body weight into swinging it in a circle. Carnations clumped up on the shaft by the dozen, and they all crashed into the battlements, some falling off with an eerie silence. In all other battles, the war cries of my opponents would ring out with deafening potency, but these soldiers were analytical and quiet, nothing like my previous opponents. If I met them in life, I would've lost, but my legend improved my abilities significantly.

Hearing a whimper from my right, I saw that Waver had curled up in the corner to protect himself from the chaos. The carnations who still stood, soon followed by those who had recovered from my sudden coup de'grace, rushed me. A squad also made their way to Waver. I threw my shield to halt their progress, leaping over those making their way to me, and poked holes in all of the carnations in my path. That power was almost intoxicating. I had my first taste when I caught Mehmed's arrow, but then it was almost too much. None of these soldiers stood a chance against me. I began to wonder whether I would ever run into a challenge during this war, but those thoughts were soon interrupted by a rumbling from below the castle.

I could barely contain my excitement. Could it have been that one of the "Elite Mages" Lady Barthomeloi mentioned was on their way? I hoped for it to be true. While my prospects in the war gave me hope, the warrior in me hated the ease at which I overcame so many opponents. It was almost boring.

With another sweeping attack, my anticipation of my impending adversaries boiled over. With all of my enemies killed or incapacitated, I beat my chest with a familiar fervor, "Is this all The Organization can offer?" I yelled, "Show me you have more than weaklings!"

"Achilles…" Waver squeaked feverishly, getting up from the ground, "We should leave. You've already tested their army, what more could you want?"

"Their army isn't my main concern, Waver. We still have their servants and masters to think about. I hope to test their mettle this day," I explained, feeling the stones under my feet rumble once more. It halted suddenly, forcing me to have a double take. Waver seemed to notice this anomaly as well.

"We need to get out of here..." he mumbled, "Look, if we get what you want, you'll leave both yourself and me exhausted, if not dead. Is that what you want?" he asked, looking at the ground.

"Look, I…" my comeback was interrupted by a burst of energy from below. I grabbed at Waver, tossing his across the battlements before striking at the ground with my spear. The floor under me shattered, my spear meeting the lance of a heavily armored warrior. Below him stood whom I assumed was his master.

The impact of our collision blew us both away, me into the sky and my adversary crashing into the floor below. I halted my tumbling with a blast of magic, and readied my spear, propelling myself back towards the enemy servant. The servant was still recovering my our clash, and for a moment my heart filled with a double edged satisfaction.

His steel armor shined charismatically, his lance curled outwards in a masterfully crafted metal tapestry of battle, and, just before my lance met his armor, his vivid brown eyes met my own. But, my victory was interrupted by a harsh thud on my helmet, and I was sent rolling down the side of the newly revealed, narrow hallway. When I regained my footing, the master was standing over his servant, hands raised in a martial stance.

_So this is what an elite mage looks like _ I thought. Despite my failure, I couldn't have been happier. Such a challenge was rare to come by, both in life and now. If I had not been dishonorably wounded on my vulnerable ankle in life, I would've went on to single handedly win the war with Troy. But, it seemed that, at least when combined, these two could keep up with me. A tantalizing prospect, despite my inhibitions on indulging my pride.

"I was fine, you know," The servant grunted.

"Even if you were, my intervention helped," The master argued.

"I suppose. Go. I can handle this miscreant. Deal with his master," The servant commanded, readying his lance.

"You forget how effective Dividing and Conquering is. If we're to vanquish him, we should do it together," The master reasoned.

"I suppose," the servant conceded, "You, spirit, what is your name? Honor demands you to reveal it."

"My secrets will not be revealed so easily," I said, standing and poising my spear for an attack, "Your code of honor does not apply to me," I finished. Above my foes, I caught a glimpse of Waver peering down into the floor below. If I failed to defeat these two, they would've certainly killed Waver.

"So be it. If you shall not reveal yours, I won't reveal mine. Prepare yourself," the servant said before lunging at me. His speed caused a whirlwind to sweep through the hall. It kicked up the dust all around us, and obscured the lights in the hall. The point of his lance poked out from the cloud, and I pinned it to the ground with my spear. The knight's momentum almost caused him to fall forward, but he harnessed it into a haymaker aimed for my face. I sidestepped it, kneeing him in the chest. He caught my knee with his other hand, however, and the blow blew him back relatively unharmed, albeit with a groan. He disappeared into the slowly dissipating cloud.

Just from behind him, a fist emerged from the dust. I attempted to grab it, but it pulled back, turning into a kick aimed for my midsection. It landed, and sent me a dozen meters back, completely unharmed.

"He seems to be resistant to damage, although he hides it well with the dodging," a voice, most likely the master's, said from behind the dust.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" the servant asked.

Then they went silent. I readied myself as the dust slowly settled back into place. Just before it cleared, the lance once again emerged with a rightward swipe. I jumped back in anticipation of the master's attack, but suddenly found myself in the air. The master had shot down to my legs and was lifting me into the air. When my legs were above his head, the servant's lance went for my heel. I swiped it away with my shield, and thrusted my spear into the wall to release myself from his master's grasp. With a spin, I entered an aggressive stance, spear raised and pointed forward just above my shield. He aimed for the wrong heel, but it was best that he believed it to be the right one.

It seemed as if my legend was so pervasive that they had guessed my identity just by my appearance, and their first experiences with my abilities. But, the dust cloud was now gone and they couldn't rely on my limited senses. They were in my world now, and I wouldn't allow any more surprises.

The two figures revealed themselves as the dust settled. The master was on my left, whereas the servant was on my right. Both were in a defensive stance despite their previous efforts, as if they were waiting for something. Chances were that other mages were on their way, and their defensiveness, and reluctance to engage in a fair fight, reflected that fact. They seemed to be aware of my power even before the fight began, too. Possibly because a carnation snuck away and informed them. But, even if winning wasn't much of a possibility, a part of this trip's purpose was to gauge my competition and by Zeus I was going to do it.

I started off at a jog to close the distance, ending at a sprint. When I reached them, I thrusted towards the knight, then jabbed at his master with my shield. The knight moved to block and his master backstepped, I spun to free my spear and jumped to catch the master. He slipped the thrust, running his hand along my spear and cocking his other for a cross. I slipped in turn, landing the rim of my shield on his temple. He jumped back to remove the power of the blow, but I could tell he was rocked.

The knight then charged at me to cover his master's retreat. He faked low before feinting up high, only to go down low again. I slashed his lance away and pulled him closer, throwing him behind me to leave his master open. If I was going to take this pair down, now was my chance. Without his master, the knight would slowly dematerialize due to a lack of mana.

I swung my spear towards my shield side, but the master caught it by the end with a grunt. He turned on his heel and tried to throw me using it. I let go, however, and closed the distance with a superman punch. He attempted to counter by swatting me away with my own spear, but I dematerialized it. He still dodged my punch, my wrist guards skimming his cheek, and he returned my offense with a shove.

The master, despite convention, seemed to be the most powerful of the pair, making it difficult to target him. But, I pressed on, rematerializing my weapon as a short spear and blocking off his escape with my shield. I managed to superficially cut the side of the master's chest, but the clanking of armor signalled the knight's return.

Before I even looked back, I swiped to defend my heel and met his lance. I replaced it and pivoted off my back foot, putting all of my weight into a counter with my shield. It barely missed the knight's head, and he wobbled back on the dodge. A punch landed on the back of my head, but I used the momentum to jump back and swing my spear in a wide arc, elongating it. It met the knight, throwing him against the wall, but his master ducked.

A deep rumbling came from the bottom levels of the tower, and I guessed that another servant was coming to back them up. Right then was my last shot to take them down that day. It was then, or possibly never.

I once again targeted the master, charging recklessly waiting for a counter. When he moved his body to the side, I planted my leg to the side to ram him into the wall. He skid backwards, just barely hitting the place I intended, but it was good enough. I threw my spear while he was occupied, but he rolled to the side to avoid it. Getting angry, and feeling the rumbling coming closer, I decided a change of strategy was in order.

I threw my shield to the side and entered close quarters. I initiated with a cross, which the master parried and attempted to counter. I feinted committal to another cross, but used my speed to suddenly switch to an uppercut. It landed flush, causing a few cracks and a loud snap, and flung the master into the air. As fast as I could, I aimed a kick for his liver. Unable to dodge, it landed perfectly and he crashed violently into the wall at the end of the hall.

The rumbling was close now, just on the other end of the wall. Then was my chance! I could've knock one pair out of the war, right off the bat. All I had to do was kill this man. I took off at full speed, kicking dust into the air again, and rematerialized my spear.. The master was situated right next to a turn into the next hall, but there was no way this man would escape then. He was clearly dazed, if not unconscious, and I was a mere dozen meters from him. The rumbling halted, and my confidence rose as I pulled back my spear. When I was in range, I planted my foot and used the force pulling me forward to empower my final thrust. The tip of my spear entered his ribs, but his hands shot up to block its progress, holding the metal shaft. His strength shocked me, as he was even able to almost win the exchange. When I looked at his face, he was smiling.

A metallic clang and clank emanated behind me, repeating itself so fast that the sounds layered on top of themselves violently. Behind me, from a hole in the wall, spikes cascaded down the hall as fast as I had ran down it. I jumped up, punching through the ceiling, but one of the spikes impaled my heel. It hit the bone, and I had to pull myself up the wall to stop it from injuring me further.

The spikes stopped when I reached the remains of the battlements, and the servant who created them stepped out of the hole. He had an air of authority around him much similar to Mehmed's, although it was more threatening. His long, brown hair framed a thin, worn face that was a window into a life of constant hardship, as well as an experienced methodology. His steel color eyes were mercilessly analytical. All of these features were topped off with a lordly fur coat, alongside a black tunic directly under it.

With a stamp of his foot, the spikes rolled back and disappeared. Unless I was mistaken, they were absorbed through the bottom of his feet. He looked up when all the spikes were gone, quickly finding his eyes locked on me.

"Foreign invader:" he yelled in a deep, gruff voice, "leave now, or be executed, as is my right as the true ruler of Wallachia."

A mystical voice echoed at the back of my mind, which I recognized to be Waver's, "Be careful. This one seems powerful," it whispered.

"You have encroached unlawfully upon lands in which I hold sovereignty. State your intentions, and be judged," the servant commanded. All around him, his allies recovered from my assault. Although the knight's master slipped away, clutching the stab wound I had inflicted upon him. A trail of blood shadowed his every step.

"I have come to judge the worth of the servants employed by The Organization!" I shouted back in response. I stood up, but nearly fell on my face because of the damage to my heel.

"Hm. A foolish goal, seeing as I am no simple servant," he replied. From behind him, an elegant black haired man stepped onto the battlefield. I assumed him to be the newly arrived servants master, because he had a magical aura about him.

"We should deal with him quickly, my lord," the mage suggested in an eloquent voice.

"A fair assessment, Darnic. Very well. Prepare yourself, invader. Feel thankful, for yours will be a swift death." The servant stood still, but magical energy ran through the area. The ground beneath my feet shook in anticipation, so I rolled out of the way. Spikes jumped up from that spot and followed my every move. Scrapes and cuts piled on top of each other with every one of my dodges. The blow to my heel had left me vulnerable, and the wound itself hampered my agility.

I could barely keep up. If I made a single mistake, it would've been the end of me. And when the servant finally took notice of Waver, I decided it was time to retreat.

I whistled to the heavens, and my chariot swooped down to service me. I jumped on, racing a group of spikes barrelling towards Waver. I made it to him first, and lifted him onto the chariot by the wrist. We took off at full speed, Waver barely able to keep hold of the railing. When the castle disappeared from sight, I counted myself lucky.

My arrogance had nearly ended me once more.


End file.
